Celestial Cove
by oywiththepoodles22
Summary: AU where Lorelai raised Rory in CA instead - Rory Gilmore is looking forward to one last peaceful summer in her hometown before heading off to Yale, but her plans are derailed when her mother offers Jess, a young runaway, shelter and a job. As she grows closer to Jess, her relationship with her boyfriend and her certainty about her future wavers. (More detailed summary inside.)
1. Extended Summary

**Extended Summary:**

Lorelai and Rory live in a small, coastal California town called Celestial Cove (like Stars Hollow, lol). Lorelai _did_ run to Stars Hollow first. She got a job at the Independence Inn, she made friends with Sookie (they're pen pals now), and Mia took her under her wing. However, when Mia moved to Santa Barbara (sooner than she did in the show), it was to open an inn on the California coast; Lorelai, worried that her parents would eventually try to gain custody of Rory, joined Mia and worked her way up to managing the inn in California (instead of the Independence Inn). Three years ago, Mia moved back to Stars Hollow, occupying Lorelai's home in the show, because the current manager at the Independence Inn got pregnant and quit her job to stay home with her child. Rory's about to graduate high school; when she does, she'll still go to Yale, and Emily and Richard offer to pay, but only if they get to develop a relationship with their daughter and granddaughter. Meanwhile, Mia has decided she wants to move back to California. She asks Lorelai if she'd be interested in transferring to the managerial position for the Independence Inn; Lorelai, wanting to be closer to Rory for the next four years, accepts. Mia sells her house to Lorelai and Rory, and the Gilmore girls plan to move there three weeks before school starts. Until then, they'll be hanging around the town.

Suddenly, Jess shows up, and mayhem ensues. Rory's secure relationship with Sean, surfer boy extraordinaire, begins to wobble under the weight of the impending move and her obvious connection with Jess. Luke Danes, diner owner from Stars Hollow, comes to Celestial Cove looking for his disappearing nephew and reconnects with Lorelai.

 **Major changes** for the purposes of this story: Besides the obvious coast-change, Jimmy showed up earlier, Jess dropped out of school a few months before his senior year was over, and Dave attended Stars Hollow High (I can't remember where he actually came from in the show) and left for college in California earlier for a summer program. He and Lane decided that they should break up before he left. April just…doesn't exist. Also, it takes place in fairly modern times (I don't think I mention any years specifically, but I may reference some current TV shows, music, books, and technology).


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:**

 **Hi! I'm not entirely sure that anyone will actually read this, but I figured I'd put it out here anyways :) This is an idea that I've been working with for a few months now, but I've never posted my fiction writing anywhere before, so this is slightly nerve-wracking. I have more chapters, but I'd like to know whether people are interested before I post them. Please review - if something seems out of character or too far-fetched, I'd love to know. Constructive criticism is much appreciated! :)**

 **Chapter 1: Like Sands Through the Hourglass, So are the Gilmores of Our Lives**

 ** _Celestial Cove, CA_**

Rory Gilmore hated sand. She hated the way it weaseled its way into her sandwiches. She hated the way it appeared in her backpack's every nook. She hated the way it invaded her notebooks, and she especially hated the way it wedged between the pages of her favorite books. This was all extremely unfortunate, especially given that her entire life basically took place on the beach. This hadn't been by choice—when she and her mother had moved from Stars Hollow to Celestial Cove, she'd been a mere five years old, hardly able to put on her own shoes, much less weigh in on choosing their new house. It wasn't _her_ fault Lorelai had chosen a small, run down beach cottage, surrounded by a vast stretch of dunes with a repaired back deck butting up against an unofficially private beach. And it wasn't _her_ fault that ever since she'd begun dating Sean two years ago, he'd declared this stretch to be his favorite surfing spot.

This particular wave of sand hatred culminated from her current position: watching Sean surf while lying on a brightly striped beach towel with a worn copy of Allen Ginsberg's _Howl, and other poems._ Sara Madison, Rory's best friend from school, stretched out next to her, slathered with Coppertone sunscreen, a pair of Ray Bans perched on her nose.

Sara loved the beach as much as Rory despised it. The girls were opposites in many other ways: Sara was a talker, while Rory preferred to listen; Rory devoured literature, while Sara was more likely to watch a movie; Sara drifted through school in an effort to please her mother, while Rory pushed herself to excel of her own volition. However, seven years ago, they had both possessed a calm maturity usually absent from preteens, and, after finding each other, had remained fast friends. Though their relationship was not without its turbulence, they always found their way back together.

After the wind whipped Rory's pages from her hand for the fourth time, she groaned in frustration and rolled over. "This _sucks_."

"Go inside," Sara suggested. "This _is_ your backyard, after all."

"I can't," Rory sighed. "Sean thinks I haven't been spending enough time with him lately. If I leave now, he'll freak out, and I don't have time for a fight."

"Since when does watching him surf count as quality time?" Sara pointed out.

"Since the last time I saw him was Monday," Rory replied hesitantly, bracing herself for Sara's inevitable freak out. Sure enough…

"What?" Sara cried. "The last time you saw him was _Monday?_ How is that even possible? You live in the same tiny town. You go to the same _school._ He _surfs_ in your _backyard_. You two used to be joined at the hip. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Rory defended. "I'm studying, we all are. As soon as summer starts…"

"And what about Yale?" Sara pressed. "What happens when you're off to Connecticut and Sean's here?"

"I – I haven't thought that far ahead," Rory replied blithely. This was a lie. In true Rory fashion, she'd analyzed and re-analyzed and overanalyzed every available option. Pro/Con lists adorned her notebooks. She'd Googled statistics—what were the odds of a high school couple making it through a long-distance year, anyways? (Not great, she'd found.) The only venue she had yet to pursue was talking it through with Lorelai, and she knew that would be her last choice. The moment she had that conversation with her mother marked the moment the fate of the relationship would truly be decided, and she wasn't prepared for that.

"Okay," Sara said dubiously. It was clear she didn't believe Rory, but Rory was as stubborn as she was organized. If a Gilmore wasn't ready to talk about something, it would have to wait.

A woman's voice floated to the girls. "Lucy! I'm ho-ome!" Shortly following the cry, the Gilmores' back door swung open and slammed shut, and a curly-headed figure emerged with dramatically outstretched arms. "Sweets! Honey! Sugah-baby!"

Rory, thankful for the interruption, happily shot to her feet. "Mom! You're back early!"

"And have I got _news_!"

"Come here and tell me!" Rory cried.

"Uh, _no_ ," Lorelai the Second negated firmly but loudly. " _You_ are coming _here._ "

"But Mom…" Rory complained at an equal volume. Sara watched the entire exchange, unfazed. If she tried to converse with her mother that way, her mother would doubtlessly ask where she'd received such uncivilized manners—quietly, of course.

" _I_ gave birth to you," Lorelai pointed out, yelling but not angry. "And since I went through the pain of pushing a bowling ball from my lovely girl parts _just_ to bring you life, I'm absolutely, positively justified in requesting your presence on this deck, Milady."

Rory sighed good-naturedly. It wasn't the first time Lorelai had pulled the labor card, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but she was too winded to continue a discussion from 50 feet apart. She glanced down at Sara, who nodded and waved her on.

"I'll explain to Sean," she said.

Once Rory completed her sandy trek to her back deck, the Gilmore girls embraced and settled into their comfortable wicker couch. Lorelai stared at Rory; Rory, waiting for her mother to make the first move, said nothing. When it became clear that Lorelai wasn't planning on talking anytime soon, Rory cleared her throat.

"What?" Lorelai asked.

"News?" Rory prompted.

"Oh! Sorry, it just occurred to me that it's Thursday night."

"Better get the presses going, Hearst. We've got a headliner on our hands."

"No, no, that wasn't my news, I just got distracted by thoughts of McDreamy. That Patrick Dempsey…he's a _fox_. Maybe I'll get his face tattooed on my ass instead of Mel's."

"Two mental pictures I _never_ needed," Rory said, playful disgust evident in her scrunched nose and narrowed eyes. "Move it along, lady. News, please, now!"

Lorelai waited a beat before bursting into song. "Where you lead, I will follow…anywhere…that you tell me to…"

Rory simply stared. "And the news is…you've suddenly renewed your love for Carole King?"

"No, no, no!" she cried, practically bouncing in her seat. "You're leading! I'm following!"

"Now you're just spouting nonsense. No one's following anyone—we _live_ in the same _house._ "

"Well…" Lorelai paused for dramatic effect. "How differently would you feel about Yale if you knew Mommy would be a mere thirty minutes away?"

"Unless you've recently mastered the art of telekinesis…"

"Or unless I've recently received a job offer in Stars Hollow?"

The information rendered Rory speechless, and Lorelai took advantage of her daughter's silence to explain.

"Mia's decided to retire, for good. She's moving back to California, and she offered me her position at the Independence Inn…she also offered to sell us her house. She knows how worried I was about being away from you…I won't take it if you'd rather me not, I completely understand wanting a clean break from the grown ups who raised you, but—"

A tight embrace cut her off.

"Mom, this is the best graduation present ever."

* * *

 ** _Greyhound Station, Venice Beach_**

Jess had never been so relieved about getting the hell out of Stars Hollow. It hadn't been _bad_ , per se; as far as places to be, he figured worse existed—a prison or a military school in one of the Carolinas or with Liz (he currently was unsure of Liz's whereabouts, but after seventeen years with her, he'd learned he fared best when _away,_ and the further the better). But the town was too small, the square too confining, the residents too nosy. They were always in his business, asking what book he was reading, inquiring about his mom, pushing his Uncle Luke to divulge the reason for Jess's appearance in their godforsaken, idealistic lives. And they were so damn _happy_ all the time. The whole setup was a little too Pleasantville for him.

He hadn't belonged there, but, as he sat in some grungy bus station in Venice Beach, he faced the consequences of his impulsive move. A surprise visit from his father (for the first time in his lifetime) towards the end of his stint in Stars Hollow had spurred the ill-fated trip. The entire idea, which—he admitted it now—had been ridiculous from the start. He'd run after Luke'd kicked him out, and he'd stuck around for about a month, just long enough to see that, though Jimmy could take care of someone else's kid, he was still useless when it came to his own.

It had been a mistake; he didn't fit here any better than he had in Stars Hollow. Some part of him had hoped—the Venice Beach beatniks had survived, after all—but the sand and the skateboards and the heat and the sticky air (a horrible, tangible manifestation of the salty ocean, hanging over the entire area, perhaps) had driven him off the boardwalk and to the nearest exit. He was better suited to a big city up north, he'd guessed, trying to decide between San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle.

 _Celestial Cove,_ the board flashed, and Jess stood reluctantly. By some unfortunate twist of luck, it was the only stop heading north—though the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in another Stars-Hollow-esque town (and, judging by the hippie-ish name, it held the potential to be _worse_ ). The hulking blue and gray bus pulled up to the curb in a cloud of exhaust, and Jess followed a crowd of twenty people or so to the doors. He dug through his pocket for change, rummaging up enough for the bus fare, taking a seat in the very back.

Jess promptly whipped out a copy of _On the Road_ (ironically appropriate, he thought) and tried to read, ignoring the other passengers' arrivals. He only made it three pages, however, before realizing, with a shock, that there was a hollow feeling in his chest. He actually _missed_ someone.

The person in question was Lane Kim, a Korean band geek hiding an affection for rock. Her mother was a holy terror, a stout Seventh Day Adventist woman with an aversion to male teenagers and a protective streak as wide as the Atlantic; as a result, Lane was awkward and shy and had no friends to speak of. For reasons unbeknownst to Jess, his uncle had a soft spot for the girl: she would slip Luke pieces of paper with CD names written on them, Luke would order the contraband on Amazon, and then Lane would meet him in Doose's Market with the money. Eventually, Jess had been recruited—he began scouring nearby record stores in his free time to save Luke money on shipping. And once he'd proven himself trustworthy, an uneasy alliance had been born between the two teens.

It began on one of the rare occasions in which Lane escaped Mrs. Kim's clutches long enough to grab a burger at Luke's; he had caught her humming a Fugazi song under her breath and had casually insulted it as he served her food. His intention had been to provoke her, and her reaction was telling: she immediately prickled, coming to their defense, instead of mindlessly agreeing with him. By the time her soda needed a refill, he'd grabbed XTC's newest album from upstairs and slipped it to her under the table.

Though Mrs. Kim stood as a definite obstacle in the path of friendship, there were ways of avoiding parents that he'd been willing to maneuver, especially for someone with a music palate as refined as Lane's. And maneuver they had. When they weren't hanging out at school, they'd found solace on the Stars Hollow bridge, right around the corner from the high school, but the difficulty lay in finding time for Lane to sneak away; so they mostly frequented the town square. Lane would sit on a bench by the gazebo with her Bible, and Jess would rest on his back beneath the bushes with a book, and they'd talk, only stopping when interrupted by an oncoming passerby.

When a woman named Sophie—who bore an uncanny resemblance to Carole King—moved to town and opened a music shop, Lane reserved Wednesday and Friday nights at 6 (her mother's Bible study times) to learn to play the drums; though the noise was deafening, Jess sat in the corner with his tattered notebook and wrote through the cacophony. When Lane decided to search for a band in need of a drummer, Jess helped narrow her painstakingly specific list of approved music influences while sneakily handing fries up to her bench from his spot in the bushes. When Dave Rygalski, Lane's ever-present crush, responded to her ad, Jess endured her screeches of excitement and endless questions concerning her wardrobe. (Was it rock enough? Was she wearing too much black? Not enough? Could she borrow Jess's leather jacket, or would that look like she was trying too hard?) When, after a few muted practices in Sophie's shop, Lane realized the band wouldn't work if she never stood up to her mother, Jess awkwardly patted her back as she cried tears of frustrated desperation.

It had worked out in the end—an older woman (Tia? Mia? Some three-letter name) caught wind of Lane's plight through Luke and offered her garage as a practice space. The band became more and more central to Lane's life, and Jess, as a result, became well-acquainted with the members: Dave, Zack, and Brian. In Jess's honest opinion, Zack and Brian were idiots, but Dave was decent, and he took to joining Jess and Lane's Stars Hollow High lunchtime duo. Dave eventually asked Lane on a date, Lane swooned, and the rest was history.

Jess didn't mind being the odd one out, and he could survive anything so long as he approached it equipped with a good piece of literature, but his motivation to go to school dropped, his previously iffy attendance record worsening considerably until he simply stopped going altogether. He'd always hated school anyways—too much effort when he'd rather be reading the books his way, with notes in the margins and no essays to worry about—and the way he saw it, he'd eased Lane into making friends. Now that she had more people to choose from, he was no longer necessary—a placeholder, if you will. He didn't have a reason to stay, and it was better that way. He never wanted people to need him anyways; as soon as someone got to know him, got to needing him, he held the capacity to disappoint them. _This_ , he told himself the night before his departure, _is why you don't make friends. Making friends leads to expectations, and it's better that they never expect anything from you in the first place._

Jess shook his head, trying to clear the memories, but he'd never had a friend, not anyone like Lane, and she wasn't easy to repress. Something about her had torn down his defenses, just a little, and revealed a part of himself he'd hardly known existed. Fleetingly, ruefully, he wondered briefly if he'd ever be able to fully return to his indifferent self. It'd dulled his sharp edges, being around people who seemed to like his company, and he'd almost considered staying—but then Luke found out about his lack of interest in pursuing a diploma and, per their prior agreement, ungracefully informed Jess he had to choose between repeating his senior year and leaving. There was no question after that: Jess was gone the next day, without so much as a word to Lane or Dave.

Duffel bag at his feet, he rested his elbows on his knees, sank his head into his hands, and wondered if he'd ever want to belong anywhere.


	3. Chapter Two

**This is more of a filler chapter…but don't worry, the Rory/Jess/Lorelai meeting is at the end of this chapter/beginning of the next chapter! (It's already written for the most part, so it'll be posted either Friday or Saturday.) I just felt like Sean (whose name is purposely similar to Dean, at least in spelling) and Rory needed a little more development. Also, two notes:**

 **1\. There are some things that Rory says/does in this chapter that I think seem a little out of character—my justification is that she's feeling a little panicky about the impending college move, and she's just trying to hold onto things that are the same. She wants to be brave and experience new things, but she's also cautious and very nervous about the change. I hope I effectively conveyed this, but something feels a little off, so I'm not entirely sure.**

 **2\. There's a lot of switching POV in this chapter...if that's confusing/unpleasant for you, let me assure you, it will not always be like that :) I was just trying to show the trajectory of their individual days until they met.**

 **Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews on my first chapter :)**

 **Chapter 2: You Can't Freak Out, I'm Freaking Out**

There was very little that Jess enjoyed more than existing in the early hours of the morning. The entire world was dark—not the inky shade accompanying midnight, but a softer hue, as the night began to lose itself to the daylight; the freeway was stripped bare of headlights; the cities they passed were uncluttered, lit only by fading streetlamps. There was something intensely magical about it, and though Jess sat in the back of a bus crowded with slumbering humans, he had never felt more awake.

 _It's a new start,_ he realized, savoring the thought. _It's the first place I'm running to for only me._ It was true: his move from New York to Stars Hollow had also served as an escape from Liz, but he was simply shifting from one adult to another. And, though a few circumstances had contributed to the lengthy cross-country run to Jimmy, at its core it resembled the same shuffling movement, passing Jess off from one relative to the next. This was his hero's journey.

Two hours later, Jess was feeling decidedly less like Odysseus and more like someone with the attention span of a four-year-old on a sugar high. He'd closed _On the Road_ and started _Anna Karenina,_ but the transition from Kerouac's conversational style to Tolstoy's descriptive language was disorienting. Finally, he put both books away and tried to channel his thoughts away from stomach growled as the bus flew past a McDonald's, and he willed it to quiet. It didn't look like the driver had any plans to stop for food, and all Jess had was a small pack of peanut M &Ms. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the window, and tried to sleep.

* * *

If, three years ago, someone had told Rory she would be dating Sean Hammond in the near future, she probably would've laughed in their face. He was well known around school for his general tendency to get along with anyone he encountered, and he was gorgeous to boot, with his wavy blond hair, piercing green eyes, and tanned skin.

But it was true: three summers ago, after a few weeks of surfing in the waves directly behind her house, Sean had introduced himself to her and struck up a conversation.

His intentions had confused Rory at first: Sean was popular in ways Rory would never be, and she had wondered what he wanted to do with _her_ , the girl who usually (purposely) kept to herself. But, charismatic, charming, and genuinely kind, Sean had pulled Rory and Sara, by extension, into his expansive group of friends.

When a few months had gone by, Rory noticed the group would disperse at times, leaving her alone with Sean. By then, the declaration of "like" hadn't really come as a surprise, and they began dating. It had been a bit of a whirlwind romance, and then he was declaring, "I love you, Rory Gilmore," and Rory was saying it back.

Sometimes she wondered if things might've turned out differently had they gone more slowly—did she really love Sean, or had she convinced herself she loved him in the starstruck haze of a first kiss? But she tried to remind herself that it didn't matter now; now that they'd been together almost two and a half years, now that they knew each other so well, now that their lives were inextricably tied, now that they sat side by side on Rory's living room floor, feet tangled together. And he was a good boyfriend, generous and considerate and polite. He was just so...nice.

"And when you come back next summer…" Sean was planning.

Despite all her determination to enjoy her last months with him, a rock settled in Rory's stomach. This wasn't the first time he'd mentioned the future so cavalierly, as if the duration of their relationship was a given, and each occasion weighed heavy on Rory's conscience. _It's just nerves about college,_ she told herself. _You're anxious about how the year will go, about whether you'll last or not, long distance is hard, you know how you worry when you think too much…_

But the rock was getting harder and harder to ignore. Something felt wrong. Lately, being with Sean had felt more like a chore than a privilege. She found herself looking for excuses not to spend time with him—homework, studying, doing work around the house—and their dates were riddled with bickering—not the sarcastic bickering with loving undertones that was ever-present in her relationship with her mother, but true, unwavering disagreements. Though Sean was Rory's first boyfriend, she didn't think it was supposed to feel like this. And with Lorelai planning to move back to Stars Hollow, there was no guarantee Rory would even return to Celestial Cove.

 _Maybe,_ she pondered absentmindedly, _this was what happened after two years of dating. Maybe that's how long it takes you to see someone's flaws and get tired of them. Maybe this is why humans are serial monogamists. Maybe it's time to –_

"Rory?" Sean prompted, and she snapped to attention.

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be hard, these years," he said. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Rory replied, squeezing his hand. Her heart tugged, a mixture of guilt and mild sadness. It hadn't been a lie, exactly—she _would_ miss him. But she would miss his familiarity; like a child's blanket or thumb-sucking habit, Sean's presence, though at times an annoyance, held a sense of comfort for Rory. Leaving him behind in California would be like forgetting her favorite stuffed animal, and this struck her as strange; was it normal to compare a boyfriend to a squishy, soft, synthetic-furred bear?

"Is it – is there – there are schools in California?"

Sean's statement (because she refused to acknowledge it as a question—he was nervous, that's all, of course he knew there were schools in California) surprised Rory.

"Ye-es?" she answered slowly.

"Couldn't you – you know – go to one of them?"

"You're actually asking me to…stay?" Rory barely choked out.

"Ror, I don't want to hold you back," Sean said quickly. "It's just – Yale is so far – isn't there anything closer? What about Stanford? I mean, it's not close, but it's in the same time zone, at least."

"Sean, it's a little late for Stanford," Rory said, trying to expel all irritation from her voice. _How could he ask her to skip Yale?_

"But you could do a year at Yale and then transfer, couldn't you?" he asked hopefully.

Rory bit back the cruel replies at the tip of her tongue— _You're just going to college to please your parents; When have you ever cared about school?; Yale and Stanford don't work the same as community college, Sean—_ and sighed instead. "Sean – "

"Can't you just talk to your mom about it?" Sean begged. "Please, Ror, just think about it."

 _California,_ Rory thought wistfully, her college anxieties melting away at the prospect of remaining in her hometown. _Mom could keep her job here, I could stay at home, I could fix things with Sean…I wouldn't have to disappoint him._

It was nothing more than a daydream—rationally, she knew backing out of Yale wasn't an option—but aloud, she said, "I'll think about it."

After all, what was a little white lie in exchange for Sean's wide grin?

* * *

The bus stopped around 2 p.m., jolting Jess out of a fitful nap. He shook his head a few times, attempting to ease the inevitable stiffening that followed sleeping uncomfortably against a bus window, and took in his surroundings.

The driver had pulled over at some sort of a rest stop, this much was obvious: a square restroom, barely standing upright; a coin-operated soda machine, with a tattered "Out of Order" sign taped to the front; a run down restaurant in the corner; and, across the street, a shiny, new Starbucks. (Jess was sure he heard a collective sigh of relief when people caught sight of it.)

"Aa-aall-righty, ladies and gents," the bus driver bellowed. "You've got a half-hour to use the restroom and get food if you need it. If you're not back here at"—he checked his watch—"2:35, we're leaving without you."

The doors _swooshed_ and slowly swung open, and people began filtering out. Jess, who, with his seat in the rear, was among the last out, made an immediate beeline for the food.

A neon sign atop the dilapidated diner declared, "Truckin Good." It wasn't cute, and it was hardly functional—as people continued to mill around on the sidewalk, Jess realized only a fraction of the passengers would even be able to fit. Two booths with cracked red benches pressed against smudged floor-to-ceiling windows; a square table with four chairs and a counter with six stools occupied the remainder of the space. The tables looked sticky, ketchup containers were sprinkled sporadically throughout the surfaces, and at least three of the patrons were currently talking on their cell phones. In other words, it was absolutely nothing like Luke's Diner, and, even as passenger after passenger peeked in and abandoned the establishment in favor of the (probably cleaner) Starbucks across the road, this simple fact alone was enough to convince Jess to stay.

He entered and promptly plopped down on a stool. A sullen waitress with weird, thick lines adorning her eyelids (Lane had tried to explain the particulars of eyeliner to him, but it was a concept he'd never quite grasped—and besides, Lane had never mentioned _teal_ as an option) dangled a poorly laminated menu before him.

"We don't give free food," she droned.

 _Aw jeez, did he really look homeless?_ He began to roll his eyes, and then realized, with a start, that he _was,_ in the strictest term of the word, homeless. He snatched the menu out of her hand and scowled. " _Damn_ that wrong turn. Know where the nearest food bank is?"

Her eyes narrowed and she turned to go; however, Jess hardly even bothered with the menu—one glance, and he knew exactly what he wanted: a cheeseburger with avocado and sweet potato fries. His recent but fiery love affair with the avocado was the only good thing to come out of his visit to Jimmy—it was Sasha's favorite topping on _anything_ , and the green vegetable grew on him. (Or wait—was it a fruit? One never knew these days; if a tomato was a fruit, then couldn't a cucumber be a fruit? And then suddenly, Pluto wasn't even a planet. He shook his head in sardonic despair.)

"I'll have a cheeseburger with avocado and sweet potato fries!" he called to the waitress's retreating back. "To go." She mumbled something that might've been an expletive, and Jess whipped _On the Road_ out of his back pocket.

The food arrived quickly, the burger wrapped in waxy paper, sitting in a plastic red basket swimming with fries. The fries, to be honest, looked like no sweet potato fries he'd ever seen, but the burger was juicy, oozing grease and cheese, and smelled heavenly. After mixing a sprinkle of salt and a pinch of pepper for his fries, Jess took an absentminded bite of the burger and pondered his current novel. Though he'd read _On the Road_ at least ten times, he never could decide if he was more Sal Paradise or Dean Moriarty—Sal was more of an observer, which described Jess fairly accurately, but Dean was more of the leather-jacket-wearing badass who took crazy risks. On the downside, he'd encountered another Dean in Stars Hollow who had, in the brief, non-pugilistic time Jess had spoken with him (yes, there had been a punching incident), seemed to be as much of an idiot as Zack. The prospect of being anything like anyone named Dean still left a bad taste in Jess's mouth—or, maybe that was the fry he'd just chewed.

"What the hell _is_ this?" he spat.

The bored waitress appeared from the back. "It's a sweet potato fry?"

Jess held up the half-eaten fry. " _This,_ " he began, "is _not_ a sweet potato."

She shrugged. "It's a French fry with sugar in it. In my book, that's a sweet potato fry."

"Your book is _full of ignorance,"_ he muttered. He tossed a five dollar bill and a few ones onto the counter, grabbed his burger and book, and exited the diner, leaving the offending fries behind. He inhaled the last few bites of burger on his way to the bus, tossing the trash into a can in his path.

And then he was on the road once more, leaving another place behind.

* * *

Rory cautiously approached the kitchen. Lorelai leaned against the counter, about to dial a number (for takeout, Rory assumed, judging from the Chinese menus strewn across the table).

"Mom," Rory said hesitantly. "There's something – I – can we…?"

As soon as the words flew from her mouth, she regretted them. The following conversation would undoubtedly be fueled by an abundance of coffee and immense stupidity, and the ending would be disastrous. She pulled out a chair at their small, round table, sinking into it, as Lorelai tentatively relaxed into the seat across from her.

"Kid, please tell me this isn't the sex talk," Lorelai begged, her mind flipping through possibilities quicker than Rory flipped through a shipment of new books. "So close to graduation…I can't take another sign that my baby's growing up."

Rory blushed. "Mom, _no_ ," she replied emphatically. "It's…it's about Yale."

"O-kay," Lorelai said slowly. "What about Yale?"

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea anymore," Rory blurted, simultaneously wondering why she was putting herself through this torture. Sean had been special at the beginning, yes, but sometimes he felt like an outfit from seventh grade: perfect and infatuating and flattering at the time, but old and outgrown and a little poor-fitting in hindsight.

"Why not?" Lorelai demanded.

"I want to stay in California! I don't want to leave my friends and the beach and my _life_ is here!"

"You _hate_ the beach, and Sara's going to school in Boston! Who else is there to miss?"

Rory shrugged wordlessly. It was strange, fighting with her mom about something she didn't even want in the first place. It was almost an out-of-body experience—her mouth formulated the right words and spit them out in an appropriately defensive tone, while her mind calmly observed. _What an interesting thing to say, Mouth. Why do you want Mom to think you're a pathetic girl who'll give up college for a boy, Mouth? Why don't you just tell her what's really wrong, Mouth?_

"Why _not_?" Lorelai repeated.

"I…I just _don't_!" Rory cried desperately. "It's far, and it's expensive, and – " _Please, Mom,_ she thought, _please know this isn't me, please ask me what's really wrong, please see through my weak argument, please –_

"I'll be _thirty minutes away!"_ Lorelai yelled. "We've talked about this! I'll be in Stars Hollow, you'll be in New Haven, we'll be 22.8 miles apart. And when have expenses _ever_ been a problem? You went to Oakhurst Prep, and, by some miracle, you _still_ had dinner _every night_ , except that one time you had that awful flu and wouldn't eat for a week _._ I know we're no Kardashians, but c'mon, Rory, we're hardly living in squalor! Besides, we've put down deposits for housing and a meal plan and it's _too late_ to quit now!"

"I'm _not_ quitting!"

"Then what the hell _are_ you trying to do, Cameron Diaz? Got a modeling gig you haven't told me about?"

"Just because I don't want Yale doesn't mean I'm dropping out! I'll go to a state school here! I'll go to _Stanford!_ It's not a big deal!"

"You've _always_ wanted Yale, Rory! What's changed? Is Sean pressuring you?"

Rory was silent.

"Oh my god! Oh my _god!_ I'm going to _kill_ him!"

"No, Mom! It's _me_ , okay? I don't want to leave him!" _I'm scared to leave him. I'm scared of hurting him. I'm scared that I'll hate Yale, but I'm more scared I'll love it._

"Dammit, Rory, it's too _late_! You should've thought of this in October, not just before your _last week_ of high school!"

"I didn't think it would be this hard," Rory sniffed, fighting tears. _Why does it have to be this hard?_

"That's tough, kid!" Lorelai said brusquely. "But it's life."

"You're being so insensitive about this!" Rory yelled. "I'm _not_ going to Yale!"

"Yes. You. ARE!"

Rory jumped up and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Does he have a motorcycle?" Lorelai called after her. "If you're gonna throw your life away, he better have a motorcycle!"

"You _know_ he doesn't have a motorcycle!" Rory screamed, channeling all her pent up confusion and pain into the sentence. "He's a surfer, not a Harley-Davidson junkie!"

"Well then! He's only got a surfboard? Forget about it!"

Rory slammed her bedroom door, threw herself onto her bed, and finally succumbed to the tears.

* * *

"It's the end o'the line, kid," the bus driver said. "Is this where you wanna be, or did you just want a time consuming tour of California?"

As they'd neared Celestial Cove, the bus had grown emptier with each stop until only Jess remained. He tore his gaze from the bus window; he'd been trying to get a good look at the town, but seeing through the darkening twilight proved a challenge.

"I'm good," he replied shortly. He stood up and slung his duffel bag over one shoulder. He nodded once to the driver before exiting.

"Have a good night!" the man called after him.

The bus chugged away, and Jess inhaled deeply. It was sea air, but cooler; at Jimmy's, he had felt almost smothered by the hot, heavy air. Here, a chill seemed to cut through his lungs with each intake of breath. He couldn't see ocean yet: buildings surrounded him, most of them brick, from what he could make out. Light shone from a few of the windows, but the majority of the businesses appeared to be closed.

He didn't have enough money for a motel, and this suddenly struck him as immensely stupid. Not because he needed a place to stay tonight—after spending a few nights on New York park benches, a night on the beach in a small town hardly posed a threat—but because if he didn't have money for a room _here,_ how would he pay for continuing bus tickets up north? How would he ever be able to afford a room in a bigger city?

He tried to shove the fears to the back of his mind ( _I'll find a job, I'll make it work, what happened to living in the moment, what happened to your hero's journey?)_ and instead focused on finding a place to sleep. A five-minute walk brought him to a stretch of dunes, but he stayed on the sidewalk, intent on avoiding the sand for as long as possible. When he caught sight of a house about a city block away, he began trekking through the beach.

He'd been walking for less than a minute when he stumbled over something—a towel, he found, upon closer inspection. He picked it up, wandered a bit further, and then settled down against a dune. He spread the towel out, a makeshift sheet, and settled in to read in the dying light.

* * *

Night had descended like a predatory bird, quickly snatching dusk, enveloping the town in the dark shadow of its wings. Rory, whose intense academic perseverance manifested as stubbornness in an argument, had spent at least three hours on her bed. The Chinese takeout had come and gone—in fact, the scent had been so strong at one point that she suspected Lorelai had eaten directly on the other side of her closed door on purpose.

Sick of holing up in her room, Rory took off her earphones and carefully marked her page in Dickens's _Oliver Twist_. As hard as she tried to focus on reading, her thoughts continuously circled back to her possibly-doomed relationship with Sean and the awful fight with her mother and her frustrating inability to speak the truth. Outside, she decided. She'd go outside. She cocked her head, listening for signs of life. The TV chattered, evidence of Lorelai's latest Netflix binge, and provided the perfect cover for Rory to sneak out—not that she was going anywhere exciting. The backyard beach served as her escape, tranquil and safe and silent.

It had been a warm day, but the sea breeze typically chilled the nights, so Rory grabbed a chunky white sweater before exiting (Lorelai had jokingly called it a muumuu a few weeks prior, but Rory loved it in all of its cozy, sagging glory). She tiptoed toward the laundry room, slipped out soundlessly, and padded her way to the sand. Usually she didn't stray far from the porch, but a full moon shone tonight, providing more light and eliminating lingering fears. All the same, she didn't see the lump stretched against her favorite dune; when her foot caught the edge of a towel, she stumbled onto a mass. It was then that Rory Gilmore received one of the biggest shocks of her life, for she peered closely and realized the object with which she'd collided was _not_ a hunk of driftwood, but a body: a living, breathing, decidedly human body.

"Oh my god!" she shrieked.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: I think this might be my favorite chapter so far… :) I love introducing everyone! Also, I'm just realizing, as I'm reading over this, that I mention Jess's leather jacket a lot…let me know if it's overly repetitive.**

 **Chapter 3: One Big Outpatient Mental Institution**

Jess rolled over irritably. As if he didn't already have enough difficulty falling asleep in a _bed_ , the task was exponentially more challenging with a lightly packed duffel bag and a stolen beach towel as forms of comfort. _Anna Karenina_ made for a poor pillow, and, now that he'd finally drifted off, a waif with a voice the pitch of a Barbie had _stepped_ on him and then screamed.

"Is this some kinda sick joke?" he mumbled. "Karma for runnin off? What, I abandon people and now I'm cursed with an inability to sleep?"

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" the girl yelped. "This is _my_ beach!"

Jess scowled. "I'm _tryin_ to _sleep_ ," he growled. This was his usual tactic for dealing with unwanted attention. Scowl, growl, generally act as unpleasant and frightening as possible, and people rarely returned. He had it down to an art. "What are _you_ doing? Kinda late for a stroll on the beach, dontcha think?"

"I _live_ here. You, on the other hand… Kinda late for a nap on the beach, dontcha think?" she countered, using his own wording against him. Disgruntled, he noted her voice returned to a more normal pitch when she wasn't screaming in shock.

 _Damn_ , Jess thought. He'd noticed a few small houses up the beach, close to the street, when he'd first settled down, but he didn't think the residents would be a problem. Clearly, he'd been wrong. Nonetheless, he continued to glare, adding a terrifying sneer for good measure; the girl only matched his facial expression, meeting his gaze head on. In the moonlight, he couldn't quite make out her eyes, but something about her hair—falling just past her shoulders—and her fiery posture—hands on her hips, brows drawn together, light glinting off a small charm around her neck—reminded him of Lane, on the rare occasions when her fury had been directed towards him. After a few beats, he sighed in frustration and stood up; like with Lane, his mask of anger had no effect on the girl, and he preferred surrendering his location to continuing the interrogation. He stood, grabbed his bag, and shook out the towel.

"Look," he said, "I'll go somewhere else, so I'm not polluting _your_ beach. Happy?"

"Never better," she snipped.

As Jess sauntered away, he heard the creak of a screen door opening. When he glanced back, a woman had appeared in the middle bungalow's doorway, bathed in a dim triangle of light. "Sweets, you out?" she called. The girl turned to the woman's voice.

"Here, Mom!"

There was a resigned note to her voice, and Jess wondered if maybe her relationship with her parents wasn't as picturesque as the town. He shook his head, castigating himself. He wasn't here to make connections and wonder about the people who lived here. That was the first step in _staying_ , in accepting it as his _home._ He was only here for the night; as soon as morning came, he'd be on a bus to San Francisco. He walked along the beach, settling down once the houses were no longer in view, and after much tossing and turning, he slept.

* * *

Jess woke to a seagull's scream, secondary only to the soft _shush_ of waves against the sand. He sat and winced; his neck was stiff, and he had a weird cramp in his left arm. Also, his eyes felt gritty, but that wasn't much different from other mornings, so he couldn't distinguish it from general exhaustion or the presence of sand. It felt early, too early to be awake, but the sun already beat mercilessly, roasting him in his leather jacket; it couldn't have been more than 65 degrees, but it was a far cry from last night's near-arctic conditions, and any temperature felt magnified in full sun. He checked his tattered watch—it was 7:38 a.m., and he figured the sooner he left, the better. He could get back to the bus station and get the hell out, before running into anyone else.

As he gathered his things, something caught his eye. A heavy quilted blanket lay discarded, a less than a foot from where he'd slumbered, and he suddenly realized that, though the night had been frigid, he hardly remembered shivering. He was a native New Yorker, an East Coast man all the way, and no stranger to cold weather. However, he'd never particularly braved the conditions unarmed; winters with Liz consisted of sleeping under a pile of blankets and wearing every single sweater he owned, since she never _could_ afford to pay the heating bill. He _hated_ being cold. If he'd been chilly last night, there was no way he would've been able to actually sleep. Someone had covered him with a blanket last night, but the question remained: Who?

Tentatively, he grasped a corner of the fabric. That particular square had been tie-dyed pink, though as he revealed more of the quilt, he realized it was a mish-mash of patterns and colors and shapes. Neon green letters stretching across the expanse read "Gilmore Girls." He squinted in confusion. Who the hell were the Gilmore Girls? Sounded like the name of a girly TV show or something—or maybe he was just thinking of _Golden Girls_ , Liz's favorite. He shrugged and stuffed the quilt into his duffel bag. He'd give it to whichever townsperson he found first; everyone probably knew everyone else.

He followed the same street back to the bus station (if a well-maintained but miniscule ticket booth could even be called a station); the town bustled, more lively now, around 8 a.m., than it had been last night. He passed a bookstore, a café, a Starbucks ( _What town,_ he thought snidely, _is ever complete without a Starbucks?_ ), and a bank before reaching the station. It was unoccupied, with a small sign sat in the bottom left corner of its window: "Runs: Thursday 7 a.m. to Friday 7 a.m." Thursday had been _yesterday,_ the day he'd gotten into town, and he was half-hour short of 7 a.m. He was stuck here for at least another week, and he had no job, no shelter, and hardly enough money for one last ticket. He exhaled forcefully, a sigh of intense frustration, and kicked the curb.

"Oh honey, now _don't_ do _that,_ " someone drawled.

Though low and gravelly, the voice was distinctively female, probably a smoker, Jess decided. He whipped his head around, searching for its source, finding it directly across the street in the form of a curvy—or perhaps more aptly labeled as lumpy—woman sporting a long yellow dress and an endless black braid streaked with white. She began approaching him, but he quickly backed away. She looked small-town crazy, and he didn't have the patience or the energy to think up a complicated escape route. However, to Jess's extreme chagrin, the insane woman _kept rambling_. Of course, he wasn't above turning and walking away (he didn't know anyone here, and even if he had, _he_ didn't care what people thought of him); but before he could, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He tugged lightly, but her grip only tightened.

"You'll break your foot. Then you won't be able to walk, and I'll have to carry your James Dean ass everywhere…what a _shame_ that would be," she chuckled, her tone clearly indicating she didn't believe it would be a shame at all.

She was hitting on him, Jess realized. His stomach lurched slightly, and he glanced around the town square for a savior, fighting to keep his desperation at bay. The inhabitants scurried to and from markets and coffee shops and bookstores without pause, as if this occurred on a daily basis, and Jess wondered if maybe, much like Miss Patty from Stars Hollow, this woman made it a habit to harmlessly and indiscriminately harass any male to cross her path.

"Get away from me," he snapped, scowling.

"And why on _earth_ would I do that?" the woman twittered. "Such a handsome man…"

He continued scanning the streets, finally locking eyes with a woman about thirty years old carting the hugest to-go coffee cup he'd ever seen. She wore an eclectic mix of blue jean shorts, a bright pink blazer, a gray Go-Gos t-shirt, and cowboy boots, and Jess reasoned though she might be as insane as the cougar before him, she'd be at least two decades younger. They exchanged slight nods, and she made a beeline for him.

"I'm, uh, pretty young," he said, stalling for time.

"Yes," Coffee Lady broke in. "The key word here is _young_ , Betty Carver. Get out while you can, Gilbert…unless you'd like to buy some insurance?"

"Oh, Lorelai, how _are_ you?" the cougar gushed. She slowly removed her hand from Jess's arm.

"Dora, you naughty girl," Coffee Lady—Lorelai?—scolded in jest. "What've we told you about the young ones?"

"Oh, it's too much fun! I just can't help myself."

"Well, you're gonna wanna keep your hands off this one." Lorelai shrugged, then leaned into Jess and whispered, "Play along."

"Why's that?" Dora asked curiously.

"Well, he's my nephew," she proclaimed. "He's…um…"

She jabbed Jess in the side, and he took it as his cue to leap in with his own load of bullshit. "Visiting," he said shortly.

When both women simply stared, he realized he'd need to provide more detail if he were to escape unscathed. "From Venice Beach," he continued. "My dad's place is there."

"Honey, I didn't know you had a brother," Dora said, turning her gaze to Coffee Lady.

"It's Chris's brother," Lorelai replied smoothly. "He's…ah…real rich." Jess's eyes widened, and he shook his head subtly; Lorelai wisely changed her story. "A real _Rich_ ard cranium, if you know what I mean…a – um – dickhead. We don't see him a lot…he upsets Rory."

"Well, well," Dora mused. She patted Jess's arm, lingering on his biceps a little longer than the situation warranted, in his opinion; he resisted the urge to shy away like a spooked horse. "I'll let you get settled in. Give my best to Rory!"

"Will do, Dora!" Lorelai exclaimed cheerfully.

As soon as Dora had ambled out of sight, Jess sighed in relief. He pushed his way past Lorelai, determined to find a "Vacancy" or "Help Wanted" sign (whichever he came across first, though he did need both) before lunch. Apparently, she had different plans. She grabbed his arm, yanking him back; Jess turned and glared.

"Haven't I been manhandled enough for one day?" he growled.

"What, no 'thank you'?" she snapped, good humor gone.

"Gimme the address," Jess retorted. "I'll send a fruit basket when I can."

"Look, kid," she began, "I saved your ass and let my coffee go cold in the process, so you bet your leather jacket I expect a thank you."

"Well, thanks to your lousy bus schedule, I'm stuck here for another week with nowhere to sleep and no money," he snarled. "So excuse me if I'm short on thank-yous at the moment."

Lorelai went silent. After a few beats, Jess glanced at her, slightly unnerved to find the woman studying him scrupulously. His glare had no effect on her; remembering the lack of response from the girl on the beach, he wondered if his facial expressions were slowly losing their touch.

"You a runaway?" she said abruptly.

"Ex- _cuse_ me?"

"The mostly-empty bag, the sandy hair, the surly attitude, the chip the size of the Titanic on your shoulder," she listed. "You grabbed what you could and got out, you slept on the beach last night, you're pissed at the world… There's more if you want to hear it, I could go on all day."

"You're cracked," he said scathingly.

"You don't have to explain it to me," she replied calmly. "I get it. I ran from Connecticut to California, and whenever I have to deal with my parents, I wonder why I didn't keep going to Hawaii. Then again, if the entire North American land mass hasn't deterred my mother, I doubt the Pacific Ocean would've done much, and Hawaii seems like it would have tidal waves and hurricanes, so California's probably safer, but there _are_ earthqua – "

"Is there a _point_ to this insanity?" Jess interrupted.

"The _point_ is, I'm moving back to Connecticut this August," she said. Jess raised a brow, wordlessly inquiring how this connected to his supposed runaway status. She ignored him and continued rambling. "I need to fix up the house before we put it on the market. It'll be basic stuff: repairing fences, cleaning gutters, painting, some garden work. Oh, and the back porch is a little disaster, but that shouldn't be too hard. There's an extra room, and I can barely use a stove, but we get a lot of takeout."

She paused. Jess stared.

"So, whaddaya say?" she prompted.

"Uh…you talk a lot?"

"To my offer?"

"What offer?"

"The one I just offered you!"

"There _was_ no offer. You filled me in on your summer plans, your household chores, and your lack of cooking skills, but there _was_ no offer."

"It was implied."

"It was _nonexistent."_

"Fine, here it is: do the work, and I'll give you the room and a good-sized portion of the takeout."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's a commitment." Jess shrugged. "I'm here to get up north, not make commitments. Not like I need more people in my life anyways."

"With an attitude like that, I'm shocked you've got _any_ people in your life."

"Eighth wonder of the world," he remarked dryly.

"Here's the thing: you're someone's kid," she started.

Jess cut her off before she got any further. "Only biologically."

"Parents aren't just biological," she said. Images of Luke—backwards hat and flannel clad, leaning over the diner counter, yelling at Taylor, attending Jess's Employee of the Month awards ceremony at the goddamn Wal-Mart—popped into Jess's mind; he pushed them away. "I couldn't stand myself knowing I had the chance to help someone's kid and didn't take it. Whether it's your mom or your dad or neither, whether you believe it or not, someone out there cares about you. And when you make it back to them, they'll be glad someone else helped you."

"How very Pollyanna of you," he sneered, "but no thanks. I spent a few years in a town like this, and another'll send me to the nearest asylum."

"Try it out for a week," she offered. "Get a short-term job, do this work for me. The housework won't take you all day, and I bet you could use the money. If you hate it, then catch the bus out next week. But if it's even the slightest bit bearable, stay. Big cities aren't cheap. We'll take it week by week and see where it goes. Deal?"

Jess sighed. It _would_ be nice to have a real bed instead of a bus seat, and takeout was better than no food. Besides, manual labor would be a big improvement over flipping burgers at Luke—less people to talk to and all that. As much as he hated to tie himself down, this woman seemed to be his best option.

"Deal."

Her face brightened. "Great! I'm Lorelai – oh, Dora said that already, didn't she?"

He nodded once. "Jess."

And they were off.

* * *

She led him towards the shore. He thought it might be the same beach where he'd slept the night before, but generic places seen at night look different during the day, and this stretch of beach was nothing if not generic. Mercifully, the woman at his side seemed to have run out of words, so he allowed his mind to wander.

She had a daughter—maybe the Rory that Dora had mentioned, and he assumed Chris was the husband. Then again, Chris could be the daughter and Rory the hamster, for all he knew. Well, whatever the kid was named, this definitely tipped the scale: he'd be leaving as soon as possible. He couldn't stand children. There was something about their innocent, laughing, happy faces and mindless chatter that grated on his nerves. On a deeper level, he suspected his dislike probably stemmed from the way they reminded him of a childhood he'd never receive, but he'd never admit it aloud.

Lorelai's first words in seven minutes yanked him from his thoughts.

"It's here, the one with the fence."

It was the _only_ house on the block with a fence, a crooked, picketed number with peeling white paint. The square exterior sported pale pink, an unfortunate color that highlighted the scraggly brown lawn, and a wooden deck stretched across the front.

"That's _grass_?" Jess said, hardly masking his distaste, and Lorelai rolled her eyes.

"We're in a drought, genius. It's _supposed_ to be dead."

"A _drought?_ "

In his lifespan, New York had never lacked water, and his residence for the past few years had followed suit. Not that Stars Hollow had flooded regularly, but the Connecticut rain had been plentiful, the foliage a healthy shade of vibrant green—Taylor Doose wouldn't have allowed otherwise. Jess briefly entertained a mental illustration of Taylor shaking his fist at the sky and threatening God ("Our grass must be green at all times and capable of growing to the regulation 1 ½ inches, do you hear me?").

"How long you been in California?" she asked.

"A few months."

"And our lack of rain somehow escaped your notice?"

Well, of course he'd noticed the lack of rain, but he never thought much of it. It wasn't as if he'd expected record-breaking inches of precipitation in _Venice Beach_ , of all places.

"Oh, you were down south," Lorelai reasoned aloud. "They don't get much rain on a _good_ year. Where ya from, anyway?"

"New York," he replied shortly. Stars Hollow didn't count, and he knew she'd ask questions if he said Connecticut. She'd mentioned it was her home state; she might want a bonding conversation about their similar towns and cities and experiences, and he'd probably mentally vomit.

"City?"

"Yup."

She opened the door, and they were inside a homey living room, filled with a long couch, a love seat, a coffee table, and a TV. A brick fireplace lined one wall, a row of framed photographs along the mantle. He peered through a doorway to the right, catching a glimpse of a kitchen, and Lorelai ushered him straight ahead, down a hallway.

"The first door to the right is Rory's room," she said. "She's my daughter, in case you haven't caught on." _Well, that solves that question,_ Jess thought wryly. "The door across will be yours. Technically, it's the master, because it has its own bathroom, but sometimes Chris visits, so I thought it would make the most sense to make it the guest room. Besides, when we first moved here, Rory was so small it made me nervous to leave her in her own room, so I just took the one with the bathroom that joined to hers. That's my room, the door at the end of the hall. And the door right next to yours goes to the laundry room; through there, you can go outside to the beach and the porch."

She paused and took a deep breath as Jess looked on, amused. He'd never met anyone who talked so much.

"So, that's it!" Lorelai concluded. "Any questions?"

"Chris?"

"Rory's father."

"Husband?"

"Is Rory's father her husband?" Lorelai gave a faux scandalized gasp. "This is California, not a Greek tragedy."

" _Your_ husband," Jess replied, a little scathingly.

"To my parents' intense disappointment, no. Any _other_ questions?"

Jess shrugged.

"Oh, one more thing. Two, actually. First, no illegal activities. Second, stay away from my daughter. I mean, you can talk to her, be nice, blah blah blah. But she's beautiful and perfect and good, basically all the things I never was, and I can't have you falling in love with her."

Flummoxed, Jess shot her a sideways glance. Did he _look_ like a child molester? "Fine by me."

"Great! Go ahead and put your stuff down, take a shower, look for a job, whatever. If you get hungry, takeout menus are in the top drawer to the left of the dishwasher. I'm off to work! Rory'll be back around 3, I'll be back around 6."

She left in a flurry of words. It wasn't until later Jess realized she'd forgotten her coffee cup on the table by the door. He picked it up with the intention of helpfully bringing it to the kitchen, but to his surprise, it was empty.

"Huh," he grunted, shaking his head. Looked like his new employer/landlord held the makings of a coffee addict.

* * *

He snuck through the back door around 5:30, hoping to avoid the daughter. He paused to glance at her bedroom door upon reaching his own, and he noticed it was now closed. When Lorelai had told him Rory got home three hours before she did, he'd been baffled. Did Lorelai expect him to babysit? How old _was_ she? But he'd shrugged it off. The woman hadn't directly mentioned anything to him, and her girl wasn't his responsibility.

He'd headed out only a few minutes after Lorelai, back in the direction of the town. His job search had proved fruitful: the bookstore he'd passed earlier had been hiring, and Jess was now Lewis's Library's newest employee. Lewis, an eccentric elderly man, had insisted he start right away, and, in no time at all, Jess had been busy stocking, arranging, and rearranging the shelves. Soon, Jess had begun to suspect this job was only available because the last employee had been driven away by Lewis's particularities and chronic indecision regarding his organizational systems. However, Jess could think of many worse ways to spend a week—handling hundreds of books in an air-conditioned building ranked high on his list of enjoyable jobs (or it would have, if he'd been the type to make lists). Lewis had let him go at 5, and Jess had taken his time returning, in an attempt to minimize time spent with Little Lorelai.

He entered the room for the second time that day and eased the door shut, going to rest on the edge of the queen-sized bed. He took stock of his surroundings: the bed was in the center of the room, facing the door; a dark chestnut-colored dresser sat wedged in to the right, between the bed and the wall; a tall bookshelf stood directly in front of him, right next to the door; and to the left of the bed was a door he assumed led to his bathroom. He began unpacking his meager belongings: a few pairs of pants and the leather jacket and his assortment of band t-shirts. There was no way this would use all four huge drawers. His books, on the other hand, would fit beautifully on the shelf. He set the mysterious quilt aside, making a mental note to ask Lorelai about the Gilmores when she returned home.

* * *

As soon as he heard the front door open, he ventured from the room, wandering until he followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Lorelai stood at the counter, ordering a pepperoni pizza, a steaming mug of the bitter liquid in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She smiled welcomingly and held up a finger. "Wait a minute," she mouthed. He nodded and awkwardly lingered in the doorway, shifting the heavy blanket from arm to arm.

When she hung up the phone, she turned to him. "Find a job?"

"Uh-huh," he said.

"Gotta give me more than that," she said. "At least two of the five W's." She paused. "There _are_ five of them, aren't there?" she mumbled to herself.

"Lewis's Library, because I need money?" he answered.

"And most people get jobs because…?" she countered.

"Hey, _you_ asked for at least two W's. Didn't specify which. I gave you the where and the why."

"Fair enough. Hey, you heard what happened to the last guy, right?"

Jess narrowed his eyes inquisitively.

"Lewis ran him off," Lorelai said. "Damn shame, it was. Poor little Peter Parker. He fell down the looking glass, and he was never the same again."

Jess digested this information and smirked. "Well, well. When did Spiderman come for a visit?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Oh, it was right before his adventures with Alice. Alright, you got me. There was no employee before you. Lewis is just getting old. He's needed help for a while now, but he's too proud to ask outright. Hey," she added, her gaze landing on his arms. "Whatcha got there?"

"Uh, you know most of the people in this town?" he asked hesitantly.

Lorelai appeared somewhat bewildered by the abrupt subject change, but answered cheerfully all the same. "Yes, I do! We're like a tiny little private high school with a graduating class of 60 people. Everyone knows everyone knows everyone's business. Any particular reason?"

"I found a quilt this morning," he said, handing it to her. "Do you know who the, uh, Gilmore girls are?"

"Um, wow," she replied.

"What, are they the one family you _don't_ know?"

"Um, no," she said. Her answers, which had been uncharacteristically short and somewhat stilted, returned to their typical gushing style. "I know them very well, actually. The Gilmore girls are us…my daughter and I. I'm a Gilmore. Rory's a Gilmore and…how did you get this?"

"Just woke up this morning, and it was on me," he shrugged. "Hell if _I_ know."

"Right," Lorelai said sarcastically. Jess startled. She was pissed at him for some reason, though he had no idea why. Did she think he'd stolen their blanket?

She strode to her daughter's closed door and whipped it open. Jess hesitantly followed, at what he hoped would be perceived as a respectful distance.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore," she said in a stern, motherly tone Jess had never once heard from Liz.

A chair scraped across the wood floor, and footsteps approached Lorelai and Jess.

"Mom?" a very familiar female voice said. "What's going on?"

Lorelai held up the blanket, blocking Jess's view. "You have some _major_ explaining to do, kid."

She dropped the blanket at Rory's feet, and Jess blanched. Little daughter, indeed; if he hadn't been so shocked, he might've laughed at himself. The girl from the beach stood before him, and she looked no younger than seventeen.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls…if I had, seasons 4 through 7 would've gone a bit differently!**

 **A/N: This is the last consecutive chapter I had already written (there are other bits but they're not exactly in order), so it might be about a week before I can update again. My goal is to update by the end of this weekend, but I'm also starting a new job in my college town, which will require a 30 minute commute until I return to school, so I'll be a little more busy than I have been this summer. Also, I believe I use a few lines from the show here, so credit to ASP for those (the "Don't you trust me?" exchange and the "I simply cannot stop laughing" exchange). I don't want to push anyone to review, but I do love reading them-they make my day-so review if you see fit :) Thank you thank you thank you!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: What is Much?**

Rory had been berating herself all day. First of all, because she wondered what on _earth_ had possessed her to sneak back out with her favorite blanket—a tenth birthday present from Lorelai, the beloved fabric had seen excitement for first days of school, heartbreak over unreciprocated crushes, and disgusting illnesses—and gently lay it over the beach bum. Secondly, because her impulsive act had left her with no way to retrieve the aforementioned blanket (what if he took it _with him?_ ), an oversight she found appalling. Third, and most baffling, because she'd been unable to tear her thoughts away from him.

She thought of him in English Lit, when her teacher mentioned any one of Leo Tolstoy's works were fair game on the final—though the moonlight had been dim, she'd caught a glimpse of the book he'd been using as a pillow. She thought of him in AP Biology, when they reviewed genetics—did those who'd supplied _his_ genes know where he was? She thought of him in Economics, when the teacher ranted on and on about the prevalence of poverty—what misfortune had befallen him? Her mind raced, swinging between concern and indignation: why was he sleeping on a copy of _Anna Karenina?_ Why had he been so rude? Was he okay? Who the hell did he think he was, acting as if he owned _her_ beach? Had he ever read the book, or was it just a temporary pillow? And…why did it matter if he had?

She'd catch herself zoning out amid Sean's predictable accounts of the waves he surfed the day before instead of doing his homework, and she'd suppress an eye-roll when he bitched about his unfair teachers (as if his deteriorating grades were anyone's fault but his own—maybe if he spent as much time studying as he did in the water) and she'd complete the circle, mentally wandering back to her night beach, the dark memory of a leather jacket and a lingering waft of cigarette smoke and a crooked sneer and a captivatingly raspy voice and the infuriating stranger to whom they belonged.

After school, she rushed home. Sara would've noticed her blank stare, and Sean would've wanted her attention, and all Rory really wanted was to start her Calculus homework, because at least math followed a set of rules. _You'll never see him again,_ she thought. _Get over it._

Three hours later, Rory had completed Calculus and Kodaline's newest album and moved on to Economics and Mat Kearney's "Just Kids." Through her musical haze, she heard the front door opening, heels clicking on the kitchen tile, and a vivacious voice ordering pizza; this was the familiar soundtrack of Lorelai's return from work. In the background, Rory thought she heard a man, but quickly dismissed the notion. It was probably the TV—very rarely did a member of the opposite sex enter their home.

Satisfied with her progress, Rory paused her music, put down her pencil, and stretched her fingers, justifying a study break. As she was about to stand up, the clack of Lorelai's boots neared, and her bedroom door swung open.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore," Lorelai said.

This was her "Angry Mom" tone; Rory had secretly dubbed it the Marilla Cuthbert Voice. If this was going to be a continuation of their fight from the previous night…Rory sighed and pushed her chair back. Better to face the fire than hide.

"Mom?" she replied dutifully. "What's going on?"

Lorelai stood in Rory's doorway, her arms bearing a familiar eclectic blend of colorful material. Further behind, Rory spotted black Converse attached to a pair of dark pants.

"You have some _major_ explaining to do, kid," Lorelai said, and she dropped the blanket, revealing the owner of the shoes.

Rory blanched.

"Aw, _jeez_ ," he groaned. "It's _you?_ "

His voice was beautiful—slightly hoarse, a little gruff, and rich with attitude, the type of voice with unspoken promises of humor and a healthy appreciation for sarcasm. Raven hair stood moussed and gelled within an inch of its life, but still managed an unruly appearance; a black leather jacket was thrown carelessly over his shoulders; sharp brown eyes swept a glance up and down her body. (Rory decided he was as beautiful as his voice.) The boy was in her house, and _I have a boyfriend so who cares if he's gorgeous_ , and what the hell was he _doing_ in her _house?_

As she speechlessly faced her mother's barrage of questions and accusations, Rory drew only one conclusion: clearly, her decision-making skills sucked.

" _This_ is what you were doing last night?" Lorelai roared. "You give me some crap about wanting to skip out on _Yale—_ Yale, Rory, _Yale!—_ for _Sean_ , and you want to be together forever, and you never want to leave him, and the whole time, you're running around with Jess! What the _hell_ , Rory?"

 _Jess?_ Rory thought. How did Lorelai know his name was Jess?

"Whoa," the boy cried. "Don't drag me into this, I don't even know what the hell you're talking about!" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Knew she was crazy," he muttered to himself. "Shoulda stayed with Dora, shoulda run away…"

Lorelai wheeled around, turning her fury to him. Rory winced. She could only guess the chain of events rolling through her mom's mind, but she imagined it probably went something like this: loser beach boy meets daughter, loser beach boy corrupts daughter, loser beach boy convinces daughter to sneak out with a blanket to do unmentionable things at night even though said daughter has a perfectly nice boyfriend.

"You!" Lorelai yelled, jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest. "I _told_ you to stay away from my daughter!"

"I thought your daughter was _five_ ," he snapped, visibly annoyed. His left eye twitched nearly imperceptibly, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Clearly you've been drinking from the Tucks' magical water supply."

Though the entire situation hardly warranted a grin, Rory fought to keep a straight face. Apparently, the rebellious attitude concealed a soft spot for children's literature. "Actually, we gave our bottle to our goldfish—she's a teen mom, not immortal."

"Huh," he said, meeting Rory's eyes for the first time. "The goldfish?"

Rory shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"An immortal goldfish, every ten-year-old's dream."

"What can I say?" Rory bantered. "I'm nothing if not predictable."

His eyes never leaving hers, Jess took a step forward. "Somehow," he said, voice lowered, "I doubt that."

Lorelai cleared her throat. "Alright, John Bender, step away from the girl. Rory, care to explain?"

"Mom, nothing happened," Rory implored, desperate for Lorelai to understand. "After our fight last night, I went outside. He was sleeping on the beach, and I tripped over him. Later, I felt bad, so I went inside and grabbed the blanket and found him again and gave it to him. I don't know him, I didn't know his name, I…I don't even know what he's doing in our house." She turned to him. "What _are_ you doing in our house?"

A small smile played at his lips. "Funny story…I live here now."

Rory's eyes widened. " _Mom?_ " she hissed. "Mandatory Gilmore meeting. _Now."_

"Sorry kid," Lorelai said to Jess before stepping into Rory's room and slamming the door in his face.

Once inside, Rory stared at Lorelai, astonished. Unconsciously mirroring her mother's stance—hands on hips, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed—she fought the onslaught of confusing emotions: relief that Jess had survived the night (as if Celestial Cove was dangerous), anger that Lorelai had given him the guest room without first consulting her, and a deep, gripping fear that this boy would serve as a tangible reminder that everything was changing, even her childhood home.

"I ran into him earlier today," Lorelai said, when it became clear that Rory was either speechless from shock or refusing to speak on principle. "He looked so lost and helpless"—Rory scoffed at the image; she doubted Jess had ever looked helpless in his life—"and so I offered him a job and a place to stay. He seemed like he wanted to be outta here on the next bus, I doubt he'll be here longer than a week, but"—Lorelai hesitated—"he might be."

A beat of silence as Rory's head spun; she tried to process the information and collect her thoughts, but ultimately gave into the urge to shout.

" _What_ are you doing?" Rory demanded

"What am _I_ doing?" Lorelai echoed, aghast.

"Yes!" Rory exclaimed. " _I_ already explained myself to you, and, as far as I can tell, I didn't even do anything wrong! _Nothing_ like inviting a complete _stranger_ to live in our house!"

"And now you're the one scolding me," Lorelai said contemplatively. "Life's funny, isn't it?"

Rory glowered. "I simply _can_ not stop laughing."

"As long as you're entertained…" When Rory's glare still didn't let up, Lorelai lost her playful exterior. "Sweets, you shoulda seen him! Cornered by Dora, all sandy and sad – "

"Mom, I _did_ see him! I saw him sleeping on a beach towel with a book for a pillow, and _I_ somehow managed to leave him there. And if, by some wild stretch of the imagination, I _had_ decided he should stay here, I would've _asked_ you first! I thought you'd do the same, but no! The woman who won't even bring a date home has no qualms about giving me a new brother without a single warning!"

Lorelai tilted her head, peering at her daughter, and perched on the edge of her bed. "Sit," she said, patting the mattress next to her. Rory sat, albeit reluctantly. "Rory, honey," Lorelai began gently, "has this really thrown you for so much of a loop? Or is something else going on?"

The change in Lorelai's tone tugged at Rory's heart, and her throat tightened. _Yes,_ something else was going on. But where would she even start? "I'm really stressed about finals," she croaked. _Easiest to tackle the smallest one first,_ she thought. "And – and – last night – Mom, I _do_ want Yale, I swear. But I'm scared that if I love Yale, I'll forget Sean, and I don't want to forget him—at least, I'm not sure if I do. I'm not sure about anything anymore"—here, her voice broke—"and I hate not being sure about things"—and the sobs began—"and, Mom, I just don't want to – to – _disappoint_ anyone or _hurt_ him"—and Lorelai took Rory into her arms, hugging her tightly, muffling the cries against her shoulders.

"Oh, Rory," she murmured, softly rubbing her daughter's back. "The transition isn't going to be easy, but you'll make it. I know this'll be hard to hear, but if you're not sure about Sean, the best, least painful thing you can do for him, in the long run, is tell him. And I'll be here, loving you regardless of what happens."

Rory, somewhat calmed, leaned back, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "I don't know why – I mean – the boy, Jess? I'm sorry for how I reacted. It's just one more reminder that everything's changing. And, Mom"—her voice dropped to a whisper—"he's kinda cute. I feel weird around him."

"He _is_ cute, isn't he?" Lorelai whispered back, a devilish glint in her eye. "I bet _he_ could drive a motorcycle."

"Mom!" Rory yelped in protest and shoved Lorelai lightly.

Lorelai pulled her in for another embrace. "Oh, sweets," she said. "I love you."

Rory rested her head on Lorelai's shoulder and sighed. "I love you too."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Rory spoke once more.

"Why _did_ you do it, Mom?" Rory inquired. "He's all grunge and biting remarks."

"You might not believe it," Lorelai began slowly, "but he _did_ look helpless. Something in his eyes…he looked so lost, standing there in the middle of the town square, and, I swear, I had such intense déjà vu. That was me, when Mia found me in Stars Hollow, and I couldn't just leave him there." Rory nodded, and Lorelai continued. "But, hon, I hope you know that if having Jess here makes you too uncomfortable, I can pass him off to someone else. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. You're my first priority here."

"Well, that's a relief," Rory joked. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten your only child."

"My _favorite_ child," Lorelai crooned.

The lighthearted teasing reassured Rory that all was well between them, but the smile slipped from her face when Jess crossed her mind once more.

"Is it wrong that I think he's good-looking?" Rory asked hesitantly. "I mean, I have Sean—I shouldn't be noticing Jess."

"Aw babe, being in a relationship doesn't mean you're blind," Lorelai said, taking the change of subject in a stride. "There's a difference between liking a boy and thinking he's swoon-worthy."

"It doesn't feel like it," Rory said guiltily. "It feels like I'm cheating on Sean."

"Rory, you just met the guy last night," Lorelai said. "I understand the allure; he's got the whole dark, mysterious asshole thing going. But think of it this way: would you want to date him?"

Rory crinkled her nose in disgust. " _No,"_ she said vehemently. "He's so – so – infuriating!"

"And I don't think he's the type to stick around," Lorelai added. "See? You're good."

They lapsed into another comfortable calm, Lorelai stroking Rory's hair comfortingly. A few moments had passed when Lorelai jumped up from the bed.

"Oh my god!" she cried. "I completely forgot about the pizza!"

" _What?"_ Rory said.

"The _pizza_! I was supposed to pick it up fifteen minutes ago! Dammit, I _hate_ cold pizza!"

She dashed from Rory's room, slipped into a pair of flip-flops, and snatched her purse from the couch. Rory trailed behind her.

"Maybe Jess knows how to use an oven!" Rory called as Lorelai disappeared through the front door.

She wandered aimlessly to the kitchen in hopes of retrieving some choice pieces of her dark chocolate stash. Its hiding spot beneath the last left burner was, perhaps, her only long-standing secret from Lorelai. She turned the corner to the kitchen and balked. Jess had beaten her there. He stood adjacent to the unused stove, snacking on something that bore a suspicious resemblance to…

"Oh hey," he said, his mouth full of _her_ chocolate. "This yours?"

Rory stared, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled in concentration. His tone, to any outsider, would've sounded amicable, but Rory detected a slight undertone of condescension, a mocking friendliness, an exaggerated geniality. He was making fun of her, she decided. He thought Celestial Cove was a stupid, too-small village; at the moment, his entire persona broadcasted a humble, aw-shucks vibe that clashed loudly with his physical appearance, and Rory wouldn't believe him for a second. All thoughts of his potential attractiveness flew from her brain.

"That _is_ mine," she snapped. "Give it back."

"Now, now, Ms. Gilmore," he said. He shook a reprimanding finger, as if he were an authoritative, patronizing teacher and she a mindless student. She bristled; if she'd been a dog, her fur would've been standing on edge. "Are you sure about that? Because I could try, but it _might_ get messy."

Rory crossed her arms, fighting to keep exasperation from showing through her facial expression. The less he knew about her feelings, the less potential power he held over her. "I know you're not stupid," she huffed. "Hand me my chocolate. Please," she added as an afterthought.

Jess shrugged. "Well, since you asked _sooo_ nicely…"

He extended the candy, and Rory snatched it quickly.

"Why so jumpy?" Jess asked, noticing her jerky removal. "That much of an addict?"

"I'm _not_ an addict."

"Admitting you have a problem _is_ the first step to recovery."

Rory shoved the package into her blazer pocket. Eagerness to eat the sweet squares hadn't driven her actions; it was the worry that, if she hesitated, he might grab it back.

"I just…thought you might change your mind," she finally mumbled.

Jess feigned injury, clasping his hands over his chest. "Ouch! Don't you trust me?"

"I don't even know you," Rory shot back.

"But don't I look trustworthy?"

Rory eyed the boy before her. He wore the same leather jacket from the night before and that infuriatingly crooked smirk; paired with his sarcastic attitude and crazy hair, he reminded Rory of a slightly less olive-toned Aladdin, or perhaps a human incarnation of Tramp. Dangerous? Yes. Fascinating? Yes. Handsome? Yes. Trustworthy? No. In short, he looked anything _but_ trustworthy.

She struggled for an answer, the impulse to lie to save his feelings and the deeper pull to be truthful playing a fierce round of tug-of-war in her mind. Though he most likely wasn't asking sincerely, it wouldn't do well to continue the path she'd already begun to forge. As she'd learned from "The Parent Trap", enemies didn't coexist well. (Of course, by the end of the movie _,_ Susan and Sharon were long lost sisters and best friends—Rory consciously ignored that bit of information.) They didn't have to be friends, but they could at least be friend _ly._ Right?

Jess saved her from answering by speaking another bizarre sentence of his own: "So. At least one of you knows how to dress."

Rory started. "Excuse me?" Had he seen her mother _naked_?

"Lorelai's dressed like a hillbilly clown," he replied bluntly.

"It's laundry day," she explained. "All our normal clothes are in the process of being washed."

"You're not."

Rory glanced down at her clothes, suddenly realizing she'd forgotten to change after school. "Don't give me too much credit. This is just my school uniform."

"Ahh." It was a sound of enlightenment; he now understood something he hadn't before, and the sly glint in his eyes indicated it was something Rory might dislike. _It was the uniform,_ she thought. _He's going to make fun of my uniform._ He nodded once, a small, definitive thing, and her irritation flared once more.

"Don't," she snapped.

"Don't what?"

"Don't _do_ that!"

"Don't do _what?"_ he asked, nonplussed.

"Look at me like…like you've just unlocked the key to my existence," she blurted.

"What if I have?" he said calmly.

 _"_ _What?"_ Rory sputtered.

"You're a private school girl. That explains _every_ thing."

"All it explains is that I actually care about my future," she retorted.

He ignored her. "The headband, first of all. It's so tight, I'm surprised your brain is getting any blood."

Her hand flew protectively to the headpiece in question. Though it wasn't an official part of the Oakhurst uniform, many of the more studious girls wore them; Rory had picked up the habit at the beginning of her junior year, and she rather liked it. It was a no-nonsense, easy hairstyle. True, sometimes she had a headache by the end of the day, and true, Lorelai sometimes whined playfully about them ("You're wasting all the good-hair genes I spent on you!"), but the headbands had prevailed.

"There's nothing wrong with – "

"And the post-it notes," he continued. "Any more, and your wall'd look like a damn stained glass window."

"Oh my _god,_ " Rory cried, affronted. "You went in my _room?_ "

"Then there's the rigidity." He clucked his tongue in mock disappointment and shook his head. "So uptight. You know what they say about all work and no play, right?"

He tilted his head, squinting down at her, and Rory squared her shoulders, overtaken by a strange urge to look her best under his scrutiny. _I'm just trying to make a good impression,_ she rationalized. A deeper piece of her soul whispered the time for good impressions had passed the minute she'd practically trampled him on the beach, but she hushed it. Fighting a shiver, she commanded her face to retain a neutral expression as his hooded eyes practically caressed her skin.

"Are you done looking?" she asked, trying to sound bored but failing to exterminate all shakiness from her tone.

" _Do_ you know how to play?"

Rory broke.

"Look, I know you couldn't possibly understand this," she began angrily. "But _some_ people want to go further than watching their lives go by on public transport, and I happen to be one of them. I've been working for four years to get to Yale, and I have finals coming up, and I don't have _time_ to play. You might _sleep_ on _Anna Karenina,_ but I've actually _read_ it."

She thought she might've caught a flash of hurt, but the words she'd intended as blows simply glanced off his leather, and he smirked. "Careful. You know what they say about assuming."

"You – you – you _angelheaded hipster_ ," Rory spat. It wasn't an ideal insult (in fact, Rory wasn't sure it was an insult at all), but it was the first thing that had popped into her Ginsberg-filled mind, and, with the right tone, anything could sound offensive.

"You consider me among the best minds of your generation?" Jess replied. "Of course, the hysterical, naked madness is a drawback, but, really, I'm flattered."

A heated attack sat at the tip of her tongue when the true meaning of his reply hit her. "You've read _Howl_ ," she realized.

He shrugged. "About forty times."

Her heart fluttered a little. How often was it that she found someone who read as voraciously as she did?

" _Anna Karenina?_ " she asked sheepishly.

"It makes an ass out of 'u' and me," he said.

"Jess – " Rory started. _I think I was wrong about you,_ she wanted to say. _I'm sorry._

"Don't bother." He shook his head dismissively. "You think you've got me all figured out, fine. I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine."

He left the kitchen without another word. Rory sighed and sank into a kitchen chair, resting her head on the table. _That hadn't gone as planned._

Lorelai chose this exact moment to burst in with food.

"Hey, kid!" she greeted. "Where's Jess?"

"Dunno," Rory said shortly, swinging her head up. She gestured vaguely in the direction of the hallway. If Lorelai found this response oddly unengaged, she made no mention of it.

"Jess!" she called. "Pizza!"

As Rory's head hit the table once more, she only had one thought: _This is going to be a_ _ **long**_ _week._


	6. Chapter Five

**Hello, readers! This is up much later than I originally intended, and I apologize! Work was more exhausting than I expected—I would like to eventually set a regular updating schedule, but I won't know what I can and can't manage until I start school in about a week.**

 **I had originally wanted Jess's first week to fit neatly into one chapter—then I discovered there was much more that needed to occur. (On the bright side, this means I have a pretty solid idea of what should happen in Chapter 6, so the next update** ** _hopefully_** **shouldn't take as long.) Here's the first half. Writing it was a challenge, and though I'm still not completely satisfied, it must go up! Thank you for your patience! If you see fit, review! I love to read them.**

 **xx poodles**

 **Disclaimer: I have no idea how people actually paint the outside of a house, so I improvised (and googled). The questions Rory used to study came from the released 2009 AP US Gov & Politics Exam. The hope quote is from a Shakespeare play. Last but not least…Gilmore Girls isn't mine! If you recognize it, it's not mine!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: From Zero to Studying in Less Than Sixty Seconds**

The first night, Jess hardly slept.

He hadn't ever slept much to begin with; because of Liz's unstable lifestyle, he learned from a young age to live on constant high alert. His ears grew finely attuned to pick up each noise around him, and, as he began to realize he could defend himself if necessary, he could only convince his overactive ears to rest by blasting music loud enough to drown out any potential disturbances. He'd carried on the practice at Luke's, until Luke demanded he graduate from radio to earbuds and promptly bought him an iPod shuffle. It wasn't much, but it had helped—until he'd forgotten it in the apartment above the diner.

But now that he was here—in this house, with these people, in this town—he didn't know what to do with himself. Through the walls, all he heard were waves crashing lightly against the shore, crickets chirping from a distance, one of the girls snoring softly; aside from the occasional creak, peace reigned throughout the home. To anyone else, the melodic sounds would've been a lullaby; however, they only served to agitate him further. His ears searched desperately for phantom noises, and his heart thudded painfully against his ribcage. In an effort to distract his mind, he turned to another current source of confusion: Rory.

She was smart, Jess thought appreciatively. More than smart—she must be driven; because he knew that he, too, was probably more intelligent than the average American. Yet, instead of going to Yale and giving impassioned speeches about the dangers of squandering one's life away on buses, he was the recipient of such lectures.

She wasn't the type of girl he usually pursued—not busty, not blonde, not desperate for attention. In fact, she was the polar opposite of Shane, a girl he'd briefly dated in Stars Hollow. (Actually, he mused, dating was probably the wrong term for it—it'd been more like casually hooking up. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't even remember her last name.) But, truthfully, girls like Shane bored him. What they'd possessed in physicality, they'd often lacked in brains. Rory—with her wide, vibrant eyes and innocent demeanor, with her classic novels and nun-like headbands—contained depth. Rory would be a challenge.

Jess already knew he wouldn't be discovering how much of a challenge she'd truly be. There was the obvious: Lorelai had trusted him enough to house him, and, though he'd never had an issue disregarding rules before, something about this arrangement felt different. And, aside from Lorelai's request, Rory saw him as an illiterate loser. But, more than either of these, he knew he couldn't become attached to anyone else. It was better for Rory to dislike him; if she did, she wouldn't trust him, and if she didn't trust him, he wouldn't be able to disappoint her, wouldn't be able to leave her. There was a reason he never committed—not because he didn't want to, but because he knew how it'd end. Jimmy had run out on him, Jimmy's dad had run out on Jimmy…it didn't take a DNA analysis to figure out Jess would eventually do the same.

After two hours of fluctuating between straining to hear noise and tossing from side to side, Jess swung himself out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen some water. He rummaged through cupboards as quietly as he could, until finally finding a shelf full of mismatched cups. He filled and drained the glass in one long gulp, splashing some of the water on his face for good measure.

A soft padding caught his attention, and he turned around. Abruptly, she stopped, obviously feeling awkward; a long, ratty maroon t-shirt almost covered a pair of tiny black shorts, her hair was tied up in a floppy bow-like arrangement, and her eyes still appeared bleary with sleep. And—he peered more closely—was she not wearing a bra? As if reading his mind—or, more likely, following his gaze—Rory crossed her arms protectively over her chest and flushed.

A beat of silence reigned.

"Déjà vu?" she said suddenly, meekly.

Jess started and regarded her with a silent scowl, unwilling to speak; the sting from their previous encounter hadn't completely faded, and Jess's request to be left alone hadn't changed. Rory's mouth twitched, but she managed to retain a neutral expression. For the first time, Jess wondered if maybe her initial distaste towards him derived from his general presence in her home and not, as he'd originally thought, their unfortunate first impressions of each other. Maybe she simply didn't want a stranger moving into the guest room.

She spoke again, softer still. "You can't ignore me forever, you know."

"I don't _have_ to ignore you forever," Jess pointed out, in a mockingly somber tone. "Just 'til Friday."

"Look," she began, a small tremor snaking through her voice, "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I jumped to conclusions, and – "

She was being _kind_. It went against everything he'd ever learned, everything he'd ever seen. He'd watched people try to be kind—had observed as his mother tried to nurse men back from whatever ailment or addiction sickened them—and he'd watched them get hurt, time and time again, with cruelty and disdain as the only reciprocation. And he had learned to hide his face inside books, drown out his ideas inside music, bottle his feelings inside a sarcastic front.

Luke had buried his kindness—and Jess had only recently admitted to himself it _had_ been kindness—beneath gruff scoldings and blustering complaints; Lane's kindness had come in the form of music-centric arguments and quiet companionship. Neither had presented it so clearly, had unveiled it so obviously, and, internally, Jess balked at Rory. Her blatant benevolence simultaneously awed and disgusted him; he could feel his heart hardening, and so he proceeded to do what he felt he did best: push people away.

"You followed me out here to _apologize_?" he asked, as scathingly as he could manage.

"No, I – "

"That's sweet," he interrupted, "in a misguided, Hedy Carlson way."

"I hurt your feelings," Rory maintained firmly. "I wanted to apologize."

Jess scoffed. "I don't have feelings."

"If you're trying to scare me away, it won't work."

"Alright, Dr. Phil," Jess answered bitingly. "What the hell's changed? Either I gravely misunderstood what you said about me earlier or you have more mood swings than a pregnant woman."

"Well – I – um – I thought we could be friends."

"I don't need friends."

"We read the same books," Rory said plaintively.

Jess stared at her in poorly concealed astonishment. " _You_ ," he said slowly, "are unbelievably shallow."

Rory gasped softly. "I – am – not," she huffed.

"Yes, Ms. Gilmore," Jess proclaimed. "You are."

Her brows furrowed. "Don't call me that. And I _am_ not."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you have any interest in befriending me before discovering I'd read _Howl_?"

Rory flushed—Jess almost thought it was cute. "Well, no, but – "

"Then? Would you prefer prejudiced, judgmental, stereotypical?"

" _No,_ I – "

"Well, take your pick." He waved his arm, as if the options were tangible objects sitting before him.

She stamped her foot. "You're not letting me finish."

He raised a brow and said nothing.

"I…I…"—now that Jess had finally allowed her to speak, she seemed to be floundering for words—"I didn't think we had anything in common," she admitted. "I was wrong. I hope you can forgive me."

"The miserable have no other medicine," Jess quoted, "but only hope."

Jess left Rory, open-mouthed but speechless, without a second glance. As he climbed into bed for the second and final time that night, he realized a frustrated Rory was, well, adorable. Adorable wasn't a word he used often, or even sparingly; frankly, "never" was probably a more accurate descriptor. Yet something about the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked and her lips pursed and her hair fanned wildly when fastened to the top of her head, liberated from her neat, rule-following self, fascinated him. She looked _alive_ , and Jess hadn't felt alive in a very long time.

* * *

When Jess stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, his growling stomach led him straight to the refrigerator. As he did, a taped piece of paper declaring "JESS" in dark, bold handwriting caught his eye.

 ** _JESS_** _,_

 _I'll be working until 6. Rory is studying with Sean somewhere—they should be back before me, so don't be alarmed if you find a really tan dude in the living room. If you want to eat, there are poptarts in the first cupboard to the right of the fridge. We might have eggs, but I can't speak for their freshness. Same goes for the cheese, milk, chicken, or anything else except the ranch dressing. To avoid potential food poisoning, I'd stick with the poptarts. Oh and there's leftover pizza from last night or Chinese from the night before—those are still good. Here's a list of things that need to eventually be completed—I'll probably think of more, but see how many you've done by the end of the week, and I'll pay you based on that._

 _Clean rain gutters_

 _Paint fence (white)_

 _Paint outside of house (white)_

 _The white paint is in the shed on the side of the house, and I think there's a ladder in the backyard. Happy painting!_

 _Lorelai cell: (xxx) 555-3948_

* * *

The Gilmore shed was a mess. Two old bikes practically barricaded the entrance; beyond them, the small, square structure was filled with a variety of odds and ends, including, but not limited to, trash bags full of stuffed animals, clear bins bursting with old notebooks and schoolwork, fraying sleeping bags, and open cardboard boxes overflowing with old clothes. A misshapen pile of paint cans sat wedged behind a box of home videos, a roller and plastic tray balanced precariously on top, and Jess almost tripped over a tangled orange extension cord trying to reach them.

They were heavy, heavier than he'd expected, but he finally hauled two half-full cans of white paint over the obstacles and spotted the ladder leaning against the back wall of the house.

The setup was simple, but painting was harder work than he'd realized. When Lorelai had mentioned painting the house, he thought it would be the easiest thing he'd done since leaving Stars Hollow. However, after struggling with the paint roller for a few hours, he was about ready to give up. The heat was nearly unbearable, the paint _would not_ stop dripping, and his arm burned from the continual effort of painting the higher portions of the wall. Paired with his irrational disappointment about the _Sean_ who Rory was supposedly studying with, it was safe to say Jess Mariano was having a bad day.

A glob of white paint plopped from the roller and landed directly on the right sleeve of his Metallica t-shirt.

" _Shit_ ," he hissed. "That's _it,_ I'm done."

He left the roller to soak in the kitchen sink and changed into a Clash tee before heading off to Lewis's.

When Jess finally reached Lewis's, his temporary sanctuary from the Celestial Cove's permanent insanity, he welcomed the air conditioning; avoiding townspeople was hard work. Lewis greeted him with a grimace and a terse nod.

"New shipment today," he said. "Remember the system I taught you yesterday?"

Jess nodded warily.

"Well, forget it. I have a new one."

And so, for the first hour of his shift, Jess sat in the back of the store, stacking the books first size, then by genre, and then by author's last name. As he worked, he pondered the ridiculousness of this method of organizing. Who cared if their books were shelved by size? Wasn't it supposed to be "Don't judge a book by its cover" and "Size doesn't matter"? But Lewis insisted books were easier to find on the shelves if the large ones didn't overshadow the smaller ones, and, since he _was_ paying Jess, Jess complied.

Once he had sorted the last book, he began bringing out a stack at a time, shelving the books with their appropriate genre—it was then he realized the reason Lewis's appeared so disorganized, despite the owner's meticulous shelving methods. It seemed whenever a new idea struck Lewis, he carried it out on the current shipment, but never bothered to adjust the books already on the shelf. Attempting to figure this out gave Jess a headache, and he ended up simply ignoring the book's size.

Lewis glanced towards him approvingly once he'd finished. "Sit for a while, boy. We're not busy."

He disappeared into the back, and Jess pulled his book out of his back pocket before settling into one of the chairs behind the counter.

"Whatcha got there?" Lewis asked.

Jess, surprised by Lewis's quick reappearance, jumped, and his well-work copy of _On the Road_ slipped through his fingers. "You said I could sit," he said defensively.

"Whoa there, son," Lewis replied, bending down to pick the book up. "Just curious about what you're reading." He turned it over to look at the cover. "Kerouac?" Jess's employer scoffed disdainfully as he handed the novel back to Jess.

"Hey!" Jess protested. "There's nothing _wrong_ with Kerouac."

"Of _course_ not," the older man said sarcastically. "He certainly appeals to his generation—sex and drugs and, oh yes, more sex."

"If Kerouac is _my_ generation, what's yours?" Jess retorted. "Thomas Hobbes?"

To his surprise, Lewis chuckled. "I suppose I deserved that one." Jess nodded once. "So you're a Kerouac man," Lewis continued. "Buckowski, too?"

Jess shook his head. "Maybe some of his short stories, but I'm not a poetry guy."

"No?"

Jess gestured to his current outfit: The Clash t-shirt, black jeans, and his black Converse. "Does it _look_ like I'm into poetry?"

"One thing I've learned, owning this place, is they come in all shapes and sizes. You'd be surprised—I've had pierced punks asking for Sarah Dessen and pigtailed little girls asking for Ginsberg."

 _Pigtailed little girls? Ginsberg?_ It could only be one person. "Let me guess," Jess began wryly. "Rory Gilmore?"

"You know Rory?" Lewis shook his head. "Small town…why am I surprised? But I thought you were just passing through."

"I'm staying with them," Jess explained quickly. "Lorelai saved me from Dora."

Lewis scowled. " _That woman_ is a menace to society."

"Can't argue with that," Jess said emphatically.

A flock of teenage girls passed by the window, and Lewis said, "School must be out. Back to work."

As if on cue, the bell jingled, and customers began filtering in. Lewis handed him a stack of books that had been returned, and Jess re-shelved them as Lewis handled the people. To his chagrin, most of them were romance novels—not the bubbly Young Adult romances, but the kind covered in Fabio's abs that basically served as porn for housewives.

"Well _hey_ there."

For the second time that day, Jess dropped the book he'd been holding. A small girl, blonde locks clipped short and wide brown eyes slathered in makeup, handed it back to him.

" _Fifty Shades_?" She looked him over. "You're no Christian Grey, but"—she paused and smirked—"you'll do."

Well aware of her gaze roaming his body, he allowed his to do the same. With a heart-shaped face and delicate features, Jess couldn't deny her pixie-like appeal, but the devious glint in her eyes reminded him more of Puck than a fairy godmother.

"Do you _talk_?" she finally said.

He shrugged. "Depends."

"Ah," she said. "You're the strong, silent type. I can work with that."

"And _you're_ the type who never shuts up," Jess retorted. "I _can't_ work with that."

She laughed, unperturbed by Jess's rudeness. "You're new."

"I am, am I?"

"I've lived here my whole life. New people stick out—we hardly ever get them."

"Bet you scare 'em all off," he muttered.

She smiled brightly. "I heard that. Should I tell Lewis you're being rude to his favorite granddaughter?"

Jess sputtered. "His – his _what?_ "

As if on cue, Lewis appeared from the Sci-Fi section.

"Sare-bear!" he said warmly. Jess all but gaped. Gone was the gruff employer; in his place was a twinkling man worthy of a Santa Claus suit.

"Gramps!"

The pair embraced.

"Jess, I see you've met my granddaughter Sara. Sara, Jess is staying with the Gilmores."

Sara gasped. "I am going to _kill_ Rory."

Lewis rolled his eyes, and Jess shot her a look of confused disgust. " _You_ know Rory?"

"Rory's my best friend, Christian," Sara snapped. "Or at least she _was—_ until she neglected to tell me about Dean Moriarty moving into her house."

 _"_ _You've_ read _On the Road?_ "

Sara gasped and held a hand over her chest. "No need to sound so shocked."

"You're into literature?"

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "Rory's influence. And until recently, I thought Dean Moriarty was only the name of Alex Russo's mechanic boyfriend. I didn't know why so many people mentioned him—life makes more sense now."

Jess smirked. "I imagine it would."

Sara sneered daintily, no small feat, and pulled out an iPhone. "Rory!" Jess heard her cry as she walked away. "How dare you…"

Lewis chuckled once she was out of earshot. "She's a handful, I know, but a real sweetheart. Her mom's real hard on her, but Rory and Lorelai—oh, those girls, they've been good for her. They're good for – for a lot of people."

Jess could feel Lewis's meaningful gaze falling upon him, but he purposely looked the other way. They worked the rest of the evening in silence and parted with identical nods of acknowledgement.

* * *

The Gilmore home was silent when he arrived. He headed straight to the kitchen and microwaved a few slices of leftover pepperoni and pineapple pizza—one of the weirdest yet delicious food combinations in his repertoire. As he entered his room, he heard what he was quickly recognizing as the unmistakable Gilmore giggle. A poorly made sign on Rory's door read: "DO NOT DISTURB." Feeling slightly but inexplicably shunned, he shut the door, settling in to finish _On the Road._

The sun crept lower and lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the ocean; the dusky twilight sky darkened to deep, blue velvet; and, once again, Jess found himself sleepless. As quietly as he could, he grabbed a blanket and ventured outside with a flashlight and _Franny and Zooey_. He waded through sand to the top of a dune and lay down the blanket, spreading out on his back, admiring the miniscule pinpricks adorning the sky. A faint memory prodded his mind: a Christmas with Liz. She'd brought home a tree—a small tree, but a tree nonetheless—and a whole tangle of lights with it. Only half of them worked, but it'd been the only real Christmas he'd ever experienced. There had even been a few presents underneath. Unconsciously, he made a fist and punched the sand. _If only Liz had acted more like a mother_ , he thought, before spiraling down into a deep sleep.

He woke at 4:30 a.m. and he snuck back in, thankfully realizing Lorelai hadn't locked the doors. He fell asleep instantly.

* * *

It was noon when Jess shook his slumber, and he stumbled into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of loose basketball shorts. He opened the fridge, digging through towers of takeout containers until his fingers grasped a red Chinese carton. He opened it and peeked in: chow mein mixed with green bean chicken. It'd do. A stack of paper plates sat next to the stove; he grabbed one, poured out the convoluted mess of noodles and vegetables and chicken breast, and set the microwave for two minutes.

It suddenly hit Jess that if anyone walked in, it wouldn't be Luke, who couldn't care less whether he was fully clothed or not; it would be Lorelai or Rory, who'd probably be a little more shocked. He left to put a shirt on, a convenient way to kill time until his food was ready, and, when he returned, Rory was leaning against the stove, plastered against a tall, blond boy who bore a striking resemblance to Ken.

Jess observed the scene for a moment, wondering how long it would take for either of the involved individuals to notice his presence. Finally, he cleared his throat, and they jumped apart.

Rory shot him the evil eye. " _What_?"

"I'm all for a good make out session, but while you've been having your vertical 'From Here to Eternity' moment in front of the microwave, my food's been getting cold."

She heaved a pained sigh, but before she could utter any words, the boy stuck his hand out. "Hey man," he said amicably. "I'm Sean."

Jess stared at the outstretched hand and decided to ignore it.

"Do you by any chance belong to the Mattel corporation?" he asked. Sean stared blankly. Rory, catching the reference, intensified her evil eye to a killer glare. "I hear they use plastic for brains," Jess continued in a confidential whisper. "And they completely disregard a very important part of our anatomy."

"Huh?"

"Jess," Rory warned.

"So, _Andy Hardy_ ," he said, mock cheerily, "what're you doing here?"

Sean glanced at him quizzically. "I'm Rory's boyfriend. _Sean_."

Jess's heart dropped a little, and he bristled. Apparently his first guess yesterday had been correct. "Huh. She never mentioned."

The boyfriend's ears seemed to perk up. "You guys talk a lot?"

Rory rushed to reply. "Almost _never_."

"And what are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, I'm living here," Jess answered casually.

"Funny," Sean said, smiling a little too widely to be real. "She never mentioned. So, where'd ya come from?"

"Venice Beach," Jess said shortly.

" _Wi_ cked," Sean said. "The waves down there are amazing. Ever surfed?"

Jess shook his head.

"Maybe I'll teach you sometime. I'm lifeguard certified," he added condescendingly, "so I can keep an _eye_ on you. Make sure you don't drown, that kinda stuff."

"Gee, that'd be just _swell_ ," Jess replied sarcastically.

"Come on, Sean," Rory urged. "Let's hang out in the living room."

"Nice meeting you," Sean said, though anyone could tell Sean hadn't thought it was nice at all.

"Wish I could say the same," Jess muttered.

The sounds of kissing started up in the next room, and he left the plate of Chinese in the microwave. Suddenly, he didn't have much of an appetite.

* * *

He steered clear of the living room for the remainder of the day. Since Lewis's closed on Sundays, Jess, with arms sore from the day before, managed to finish painting the back wall of the house. At dinnertime, he choked down some Indian food—the takeout choice of the night—and returned to his post outside while Lorelai and Rory resumed their private chattering.

Monday followed in a similar pattern: he worked with paint, he worked with books, he ate alone, and he slept outside. He couldn't decide whether he enjoyed the complete lack of company or almost missed having people around. Lorelai had made it seem as if he'd be integrated into the family; but they'd been so secluded, he couldn't help but wonder if they didn't want him around. In fact, the girls acted as if he didn't even exist—that is, until Tuesday evening.

* * *

He heard the yelling before he was even at the front door. He paused, listening for a moment.

"Anarchy!" Rory's voice all but screeched. "Anarchy is the answer! If there was no government, there would be no government _classes_ , and if there were no government classes, there'd be no government _tests…_ "

Jess hesitantly pushed the front door open. "Hello?"

Rory's head snapped around. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I," she thundered, "am having a _mental breakdown_. So if you have _nothing nice to say,_ DON'T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL."

"Whoa," Jess said quietly, slowly approaching her. "What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" Rory repeated hysterically. "Oh, _nothing's_ wrong. Nothing except _I am going to fail my Government final because my mother is STUCK AT WORK."_

" _That's_ what you've been doing in your room all weekend? Studying?"

"What did you _think_ we were doing?" Rory snapped, tears subsiding. " _Hooking up?_ "

Jess quirked a brow.

"She's been helping me study," Rory said, slightly less frantic now. "I had my Calculus and Lit finals yesterday, my Econ final today, and my Gov final is tomorrow. Mom's been quizzing me but she had a work emergency and I'm so stressed and I can't even do this without her and – "

"I can help."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. _I can help?_ He _couldn't_ help—he could hardly handle school on his own, he was too easily distracted, he shouldn't be around Rory anyway. But she stood before him, eyes puffy and rimmed with red, a hopeful expression growing upon her face. It was too late to back down.

"I thought you didn't need friends," Rory sniffled.

"I'm not offering you the 'Best' half of a cheap necklace," Jess growled. "I just said I'd help."

"How?" Rory asked.

"Got flashcards?"

* * *

Predictably, Rory Gilmore _did_ have flashcards. In fact, she had about 250 of them.

Jess gaped at her from across the kitchen table. "How _long_ is your final?"

"It should be no more than a hundred questions," Rory answered.

"Then why…" Jess gestured at the cards strewn across the table.

Rory shrugged. "There were 255 questions on the study guide, so I made a flashcard for each question. Be prepared—it's my motto."

Jess snorted. "I didn't realize you were a Girl Scout."

"It's the _Boy_ Scout motto."

"Boy Scout, too? My, haven't we been busy."

Rory sighed exasperatedly. "Are you going to help or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jess waved a hand lazily. "Do you have candy?"

"Candy?"

"Yeah, I'd prefer a nice mix of good candy and gross candy."

"Gross candy?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say? Because this is getting tiring."

" _What_ is gross candy?"

Jess shot her a dubious look. "Should be self-explanatory: candy that you don't like. _If_ there's such a thing?"

"Hot Tamales," Rory said, wrinkling her nose. "Why anyone thought making a _spicy_ candy was a good idea is beyond me."

Jess smirked. "Oh yeah—those are real disgusting. But definitely not as bad as Whoppers."

Rory gasped. "You hate _Whoppers_? What kind of a person _are_ you?"

"Uh, a _sane_ one?"

Rory reached over and playfully swatted his shoulder. "How is this helpful?"

"When you get a right answer, you'll get a good candy," Jess explained. "Wrong answer, Hot Tamale."

Rory nodded, a nonverbal agreement to his terms, and went to the pantry, returning with a box of Hot Tamales and a bag of mini Snickers.

"Okay," she said, once they had been arranged around the table. "Hit me."

"First question!" Jess announced. " In 1987, the cooperation among the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), the National Organization for Women (NOW), and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) to defeat Robert Bork's nomination to the United States Supreme Court was an example of?"

"Um…hmm," Rory said thoughtfully. "Litigation?"

"Ehhhrrr," Jess buzzed. "One Hot Tamale coming up!"

"No, no, no!" she cried. "I remember…it's coalition building! Isn't it?"

Jess laughed for the first time since he'd arrived. "Too late!"

"Ugh." Rory gave Jess a dirty look as she chewed. "Remind me why I agreed to this?"

"Because the couch didn't deserve your abuse?" Jess shot back.

He flipped to the next card; however, instead of reading it, he asked his own question. "Where's Sean?"

For a split second, Rory's expression of intense concentration reigned, as if she hadn't realized it wasn't from the study guide. Then:

"Where's Sean?" she repeated. "What does that have anything to do with the government?"

Jess shrugged. "A girl has a boyfriend, in my experience, he's the first one she calls when there's a problem."

"There _wasn't_ a problem."

"Rory," Jess said firmly, "you were screaming at the couch. There was definitely a problem."

"He's busy," Rory finally said. "And he probably wouldn't understand. School isn't really his…thing."

"Does he do anything besides ride the _wicked_ waves?"

"Yes!" Rory protested.

"O-kay," Jess said, his tone clearly indicating he absolutely didn't believe her. "So," he continued, looking down at the card, "Federal budget entitlements refer to spending…?"

"Oh, oh, I know this one!" she squealed. "To provide individual benefits established by legislation!"

When Lorelai walked in two hours later, Jess and Rory sat side by side at the kitchen table, pouring over pages and pages of meticulous notes. A stack of flashcards teetered precariously near Jess's elbow, and a mismatch of assorted candies were scattered across the table.

"Mom!" Rory exclaimed. "You're home!"

"I got all your frantic voicemails," Lorelai said, amused. "But it looks like you got it figured out."

"Yeah," she said. "Jess offered to help."

"I had to," he replied seriously. "The furniture was in grave danger."

* * *

The next morning, Jess noticed a tattered copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ on the floor, slipped beneath his closed bedroom door. When he opened the book, neat script in the upper left corner proclaimed it to be "Property of Lorelai L. Gilmore."


	7. Chapter Six (Part One)

**Hi all! Sorry for the late update, but this is my longest chapter yet, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, sorry for the very long author's note. Feel free to skip it if you want, but it contains some (minorly) important info.**

 **A few things:**

 **1\. I'm not sure how I missed this, but I majorly screwed up the days in the beginning of the story (Jess is supposed to arrive on Friday night, aka the only day the bus runs, so Lorelai should be rescuing him on Saturday morning, but apparently it's actually Friday because Rory is in school during the day, and the _next_ day is Saturday…yeah, it's a mess) so I'll be going back and tweaking the days a bit to fit with whatever time frame I decide to smash it into.**

 **2\. I've been considering writing part of an upcoming chapter from the perspective of someone(s) in Stars Hollow (most likely Luke and/or Lane). This wouldn't be a common occurrence, but let me know if it's something that would interest you!**

 **3\. I know it's been a while between updates. I'm a slow and meticulous writer, even more so now that I know it won't be just me reading this, and school is always getting in the way. (The quarter system is basically like getting shoved onto a speeding treadmill: if you don't start at a run, you're already falling behind. Yes. It's awesome.) I just wanted to let you all know that I am 100% determined to finish this story. I have a general outline in my head and a more specific outline in the works for upcoming chapters.**

 **4\. I went back and named my chapters! Yay!**

 **5\. I'm afraid my character development is a little wishy-washy—I keep writing these mushy literati scenes before realizing that Jess and Rory have literally known each other for less than a week and are still supposed to be kinda not okay, and then I have to create convincing reasons why Jess and Rory aren't together, and I feel like their internal dialogue is getting repetitive. This might just be me feeling self-conscious about my writing…not sure. Suggestions and/or constructive criticism appreciated!**

 **6\. If anybody has ideas that they'd like included in the story, please review/message me! Fall/winter tend to be my favorite months, and I'm at a loss of what kinds of summery things should be happening in Celestial Cove since my brain is in Christmas mode.**

 **7\. I'm looking into a beta, but I'm not exactly sure how that works…I feel weird sending my chapters into the hands of a stranger, so if any of you have suggestions, suggest away!**

 **8\. This chapter has been posted in two parts because for some stupid,** **idiotic reason, fanfiction isn't letting me save the entire chapter as one. I'd really rather have it all in one chapter, so I'll try to figure out a way to condense it later, but I've been trying to figure this out for almost five hours, and I'm thoroughly sick of it.**

 **Review as you see fit :)**

 **xx poodles**

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Guilt and Chanel No. 5**

"I still can't believe that absolute _babe_ is living in your _dad's room_ , and you didn't even _think_ to tell me." Sara flung her brown paper bag onto the cold cement table, closely followed by a thick stack of textbooks, before sliding onto the bench across from Rory.

This was at least the third time Sara had uttered that exact sentence since meeting Jess earlier in the week, and it still didn't strike Rory as any less odd. Christopher hadn't used the room for a few years, and, yes, Jess was a temporary occupant, but hearing it almost didn't make sense. Her mother—her protective, strictly anti-men-in-the-house mother—had allowed a stranger to stay with them at the drop of a hat. And Rory thought he had flirted with her. And she was pretty sure she had flirted back. (Or something.)

Rory took a calm bite of her pizza, primly swiping at stray wisp of cheese that clung to her chin. "Careful, you'll break your Doritos."

Sara groaned. " _Please._ My _mother_ discovered that little habit, and she's back to packing my lunches. It's fat-free hummus and celery for me today: a thoroughly unbreakable meal."

"I'm sure we could do _some_ thing about that celery," Rory mused. "Smush it with a textbook?"

"Grind it under our heels?" Sara suggested.

Rory pushed an extra plate in her friend's direction. "Good thing I grabbed you a slice. Don't you love me?"

Sara's hazel eyes lit up. "I can just _hear_ it. 'That cheese will go _straight_ to your ass, Sara Marguerite Madison.' Newsflash, Mother, some girls _want_ an ass." After a few ravenous bites, Sara returned to her original subject. "So, Jess?"

Rory sighed. "How many times do we need to go over this?"

"However many times it takes for you to tell me the truth," Sara insisted.

"I thought you needed help studying," Rory pointed out helplessly.

"Rory Gilmore, when have you ever known me to be unprepared?"

It was true. Though Sara could care less about the prestige of an Ivy League and never missed an opportunity to shove rebellion in her mother's face, she meticulously completed assignments and rivaled Rory's ability to store information. If Sara had a test in the latter portion of the school day, there would be no cram sessions at lunch.

"Besides," Sara continued, "my final was this morning."

"Then _why_ are we over here instead of _there_?" Rory gestured to their usual spot on the grassy knoll.

The group spanned a good quarter of the area, some sitting cross-legged, others stretched out on their stomachs or backs. A few of the girls rested their heads in their boyfriends' laps, or vice versa. If Rory had been over there, she'd be in that exact position; Sean would be holding a plate of food in one hand, probably offering her a bite with the other.

He meant well, but the whole experience was uncomfortable. A spot on the knoll was somewhat of a status symbol, and, sometimes, it felt like too much affection for a place as public as that. She had never fully grown accustomed to being around all of Sean's friends; only a few of the girls had deigned to talk to her over the years, and the boys simply teased and left her tongue-tied. Perhaps it was because they didn't live in the same town; Oakhurst Prep was fifteen minutes inland, in the wealthier town of Cambria, and she rarely even saw them outside of school. Whatever the reason, she relied solely on Sara or whichever novel she'd packed for the day.

Usually, Rory would be happy to eat lunch in a more private place. But after the night of studying with Jess and her slightly risky decision to slip _Catcher in the Rye_ in his room, her heart had been fluttering unsteadily. For two years, she hadn't so much as glanced at another boy. Sean had accepted her as his future, and it had given her a sense of peace, knowing that, if everything else was changing, at least she could count on his presence. _My heart belongs to you_ , he would say, and she would repeat his words.

But something about Jess's sharp nature—because his words, his wit, his features, his edges, everything about him was razor sharp—had caught her attention and, against her will, what she feared was her heart. She hoped all she needed to remedy that was an afternoon in Sean's arms. It would be familiar, it would be safe…it would be the perfect reminder of where she belonged.

"Be- _cause_ ," Sara said, enunciating syllables as if Rory was the densest person she knew, "I wanted to talk to you about Jess. _A-lone._ "

"Mom rescued him from Dora on Friday morning," Rory recounted in a bored tone. "He's living with us and helping with home repairs. He hates Sean, he's from New York, he came from Venice, he's working for your grandpa, we don't know why he's here. That's all I know."

"That's _all_ you know?" Sara teased.

"What else do you want to hear?" Rory exclaimed. "That he's obnoxious? Rude? Infuriating?"

"Um, how about _gorgeous_?" Sara added.

Rory said nothing.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Sara prodded. "Only a blind person wouldn't notice! Except, they would, because they'd hear him talk, and _god!_ The boy's voice practically oozes sex. How could you _not_ have noticed?" A blush rose to Rory's cheeks, and a pleased grin overtook Sara's face. "You _have_ noticed."

"Fine," Rory conceded quietly. "He helped me study for my Econ final last night, and he's…not all bad."

"Not all bad?" Sara repeated.

"He's smart," Rory admitted. "And…he reads. A lot, I think."

"He talked to you?"

"Not since last night."

"Will he?"

"Probably not," Rory replied casually. But, traitorously, she hoped he would. She wanted him to. Her mind turned to the copy of _Catcher_ that she'd slipped to him before leaving for school. He'd be at work by now; he'd have found the book already. Would he leave it there? Would he return it to her room without reading, a subtle rejection? Or would he keep it for his back pocket, the place his chosen books inhabited?

"What about Sean?"

"What _about_ Sean?"

"Why are you perfectly content to be over here, with your lying best friend, instead of over _there_ , with the professed love of your life? Why are we talking about Jess instead of Sean? Why do you blush every time I mention Jess, but change the subject when Sean comes up in conversation?"

" _You're_ the one who wanted to talk about Jess!" Rory protested.

The two friends stared at each other for a beat.

"You're not in love with him anymore," Sara said softly.

"I'm just not sure," Rory whispered. "Maybe I never was." She groaned. "What's _wrong_ with me? He's perfect, _absolutely_ perfect. He's nice, he's loyal, he _knows_ me, he's one of my best friends, people like him…my _mother_ likes him, and you know how she is when it comes to boys!"

"Just so you know, that description could also fit Fido, your friendly golden retriever."

"I don't _have_ a golden retriever," Rory objected. "Mom can't even keep a hamster alive. It's a miracle I survived long enough to feed myself."

"Oh, Rory, you _know_ what I mean! You described him with as much passion as you'd describe your brother. And I know, I know—you don't have a brother either. But if you don't love him, if there's no more passion…you're only eighteen. It's okay to change your mind."

"I'm just…not sure," she repeated helplessly. "Everything feels so…muddled."

"The last thing I want to do is pressure you, and I want you to know I'm on your side, I'm in your corner, you've got me. But you can't drag this out forever, you know?"

Rory nodded grimly. "Before the end of the summer, at least."

The bell rang, and the girls gathered their respective belongings.

"See you after school?" Rory asked.

Sara smirked. "I'm out."

Rory rolled her eyes, slightly scandalized but unsurprised. "What about your classes?"

"Relax, _Mom_ ," she mocked amicably. "I had all my important ones before lunch. Tomorrow, Thelma?"

"Deal, Louise."

* * *

Jess grabbed Rory's book before leaving for work, against his better judgment. Then again, he seemed to do everything against his better judgment recently—namely, engage in conversations with Rory. His fascination with Lorelai's daughter needed to end, and he needed to end all actions that would fuel it.

Obviously, nothing could happen between them; if he overlooked Lorelai's adamant requests for them to stay apart, Sean still stood in the way, and, even then, there was no guarantee Rory felt the same attraction. After their encounter the previous evening, he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn't get any closer to her. What she wouldn't understand and what he wouldn't even know how to explain: he _couldn't_ be friends with her. The instant spark he'd felt as soon as they met, the bantering and bickering, the fierce attraction…it would only intensify as they spent time together.

Hell, it was all he could do to keep from lunging across the kitchen table. The air of innocent elation that overtook her entire being when she answered a question correctly; the way her lips pursed and her brow furrowed as she attempted to recall a difficult response; the intense disgust evident in her pinched expression when she chewed a hot tamale. She was just so freaking irresistible and completely ignorant of her charm. What option did he have other than to leave? Staying would only hurt both of them. On the other hand, he _didn't_ want to hand over her copy of _Catcher in the Rye._ (He'd read it before, of course; though not among his favorites, it was practically child's play, and he'd read it just fewer than a dozen times. There was just something so intimate about the idea of reading her favorite copy of a book—and, naturally, he was looking forward to leaving notes in the margins.)

He shoved through Lewis's door (a little more aggressively than necessary), enjoying the calm that came with entering a room packed with books.

"You're still here," Lewis observed candidly.

"It's only temporary," Jess reminded him.

The elderly man's eyes twinkled. "That's what they all say."

"Lewis," he insisted, "I'm serious. There's nothing here for me."

"Jess," Lewis said solemnly, "you listen here. Do you have a goal in mind?"

Jess squinted at his employer. "Uh – Seattle, I think."

"You think?"

"Seattle," Jess repeated more confidently.

Lewis set a gnarled hand on Jess's shoulder. "Son, just remember, it's one thing to run with an end in sight. But if you don't know what you're looking for, no place will ever measure up. Don't spend your whole life running."

The door chimed; a family of six entered, and Lewis rushed to their aid. His words, however, lingered in Jess's mind, and he ended up spinning the small rack of California-themed postcards at the front counter. He plucked a vibrant Pacific Ocean sunset and stuck it in his pocket. It wouldn't kill him to let someone in Stars Hollow know he was still alive.

* * *

On his next break, he sat behind the register with a pencil and the postcard. _Dear Lane,_ he began, before flipping the pencil upside down and furiously attacking the two words with the eraser. "Dear Lane?" he repeated aloud. "Are you _losing your mind_?"

"All signs point to yes," an eerie voice said.

He looked around, and Sara popped up from behind the counter. He physically refrained from jumping.

"What the _hell_?"

Sara greeted him with an enthusiastic wave and a voice that had returned to its normal tone. "Hey there!"

"Are you _spying_ on me?"

"Who's Lane?"

"Absolutely none of your business," he replied definitively.

"It's a girl."

"It's not a girl!"

"You're gay, then?"

"Absolutely flaming," Jess deadpanned. When Sara regarded him with a little too much interest for someone who'd caught on to his intended sarcasm, he scowled. _"No."_

"I don't know any straight guys who write another guy a letter that starts with 'Dear.'"

He sighed. There was no way he was getting out of this one completely unscathed. "Lane is…female."

"Did you miss the day in school when they taught genders? Usually, a girl _is_ female _._ "

He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off the inevitable headache that'd begun to appear whenever Sara did. "I need to get back to work."

"You're avoiding my question."

"It's what I do best." He stepped around her, grabbing a book that had been recently returned.

"I'll find out sooner or later!" she called to his retreating back.

"The later, the better," he retorted.

That girl would be the death of him.

* * *

Instead of sitting through the last twenty minutes of her literature class, Rory found herself sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the purgatory-like space between the nurse and headmaster's office. After receiving a summons, she'd been waiting anxiously for five minutes that had felt more like ten years

The secretary's scratchy voice broke through her concentrated worrying. "Rory Gilmore? Headmaster Darving will see you now."

She stood, gathering her things, and pushed open the heavy oak doors.

"Please, have a seat," Headmaster Darving greeted from behind his desk.

The interior of the office looked no less intimidating than it had on her first day of school, and she sat, nervously twisting her hands in her lap.

"Ms. Gilmore," he droned, "as you may recall, we had a similar meeting earlier in the semester."

Rory nodded, though their previous meeting had almost completely slipped her mind until receiving the summons. It had been at the beginning of January with four other students, all candidates for the high school's valedictorian. Rory—knowing the more she hoped for the position, the more she'd stress—had pushed the encounter to the back of her memory, burying it beneath schoolwork, schoolwork, and more schoolwork. Besides, did she really want to write a speech and deliver it to the entire school and their families? Not particularly. However, now that the purpose of this meeting had been made clear, her heart pounded and her hands grew clammy. _This was it_.

"It has recently come to my attention that your class is graduating," he continued, then paused. When Rory offered no reaction, he added, "That was a joke."

"Oh, of course," she replied, a bit startled ( _she_ didn't think it was funny, _she_ was trying not to pass out from nerves), and forced a chuckle.

Seemingly appeased, the elder gentleman carried on. "I believe it is high time I let the five of you in on the results, and who better to start with than our highest achieving student? Congratulations, Rory Gilmore—you are this year's valedictorian."

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. He went into specifics—her GPA, her academic standing, the order of the speeches at graduation—but shock had rendered her nearly speechless, and, other than thanking him at the conclusion of the meeting, she didn't speak until running into Sean in the hallway.

"Hey, babe!"

"Sean!" Rory gasped breathlessly. "Are you busy right now?"

"Not…exactly?" he replied.

"Can you give me a ride to the inn?" she asked.

He grinned—it wasn't every day that Rory asked for help. "Anything for you."

She inwardly cringed at his cheesiness, feeling a sickening pang of guilt for her conversation with Sara earlier, but smiled in return. "Thanks, Sean. You're the best." She stood on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

He reached for her hand, and their fingers twined together as they walked to his car. He walked her to the passenger side; instead of opening the door, he leaned her up against the side of the car and leaned in. Their lips met, and it was soft at first, sweet, her lips brushing against his. He deepened the kiss, dove in tongue-first, and she jerked her head back, bumping the car window in the process.

"Ouch," she muttered.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"What?"

"You stopped kissing me."

"We're in the school parking lot," she exclaimed.

"So?"

"What do you mean, _so_? Anyone could see!"

"Ror, I'm pretty sure it's no secret we're together."

"But still—teachers, freshman, the headmaster, the secretaries can all see. Do you _really_ want to be making out in front of all of them?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's _inappropriate,_ " Rory hissed.

Sean chuckled as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself in. "Okay, Grandma."

Rory shot him a half-hearted glare. "Sean, I'm serious."

He shrugged, letting the argument go, and walked to his side of the car. Once they'd pulled out of the school's driveway, he spoke once more. "Is there an emergency at the inn?"

"No, I just _really_ need to talk to Mom."

The Independence Inn was ten minutes from the school and five minutes from Celestial Cove, in a small town right off Highway 101. Rory silently sent thanks above for the location's convenience in situations such as these.

"What about?"

Rory grinned in spite of herself. "I want her to be the first to know, but you can stick around for the news."

Sean shot her a quick, inquisitive glance. "What news?"

"I can't tell you, silly!" She reached over and hit the radio dial. Electronic noises blasted through his radio speakers; it was the kind of music she hated, but it wasn't worth another fight. It wasn't worth another argument, not when they had just been smiling, not when they were going to be graduating soon, not when she was going to be valedictorian. This was supposed to be a happy time, and so she shut up and turned up the song and dealt with the music.

* * *

When Sean pulled up in front of the Inn, Rory practically fell out of the car onto the vast dirt parking lot, scrambling to the porch. Sean stared after her, mystified. "Rory, hold up!"

"I need to find Mom!" she called back.

She burst into the lobby. "Mom! Mom!"

"Slow down," Helga, the German receptionist, grouched.

Helga held a deep impatience for all people—ironic, considering her career—but channeled most of her irritation to those with smiles on their faces. Rory was fairly certain she had a sixth sense for bursting people's bubbles.

Lorelai emerged from the staircase, a concerned look upon her face. "Rory? Is something wrong?"

"I had a meeting with the headmaster today."

"You finally got in trouble?" Lorelai clapped her hands in anticipation. "I'm so proud, my little rebel! Spill! Tell Mommy what you did wrong!"

Rory smiled. "I – um – got perfect grades? Mom, he called me in to tell me I'm going to be the valedictorian!"

"Oh my god, oh my god!" Lorelai screeched, gripping Rory in a tight embrace. They jumped up and down in circles, while Sean looked on bemusedly. "That's amazing! You're the smartest person in school! You're going to give a speech! Can we celebrate?"

"Tonight," Rory promised. "I have some studying to do."

"Well, I'll see ya later, Val," Lorelai said giddily. "Get it? Val, for Valedictorian?"

"I get it, Mom," Rory laughed, leaning in for one last hug.

"By the way," Lorelai whispered in Rory's ear as she pulled away, "I hear Anne's hiring for the summer."

Rory smiled. A recent college graduate, Anne had moved to Celestial Cove about five years prior, opening a café named Sugar & Spice shortly afterwards. She was an excellent cook; Lorelai occasionally hired her to cater for the Inn, who regularly benefitted from her delicious breakfast pastries. Aside from being an excellent business contact, Anne also held throne as one of Rory's favorite people in town. Some might consider her height intimidating, but her kind face, framed by long brown hair and adorned with freckles, had instantly appealed to Rory. When she'd engaged in a deep conversation regarding the novel Rory had been carrying around that day, Rory was sold. If Sugar was hiring, Rory wanted to be there.

"Thanks, Mom," she murmured back.

"Ready to go, Rory?" Sean asked.

She beamed. "Yeah! Can you drop me off downtown, though? I have some errands to run."

"Sure, babe," he said cheerfully.

Sean dropped Rory off at the corner, between O'Grady Grocery and the Candy Shoppe. She made an immediate beeline for Sugar & Spice, the small, red-doored business nestled between a flower shop and a fancier restaurant.

A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open. Inside, a low counter lined the wide windows that opened out toward the street, allowing people to enjoy the indoors with the outdoor breeze. Small tables seating four were arranged throughout the room, save for a clear path from the door to the register. Bitter wafts of coffee mingled with the unmistakable scent of fried foods. Rory inhaled deeply, her features relaxing into a contented expression. This smell had fueled many study sessions, facilitated countless reading comas, and accompanied numerous mother-daughter dates. For Rory, the smell was comfort.

"Rory!" Anne exclaimed, green eyes twinkling. "This is an unexpected surprise."

Rory smiled shyly and waved in response.

"What can I help you with?" she asked as Rory approached the counter.

"You had a 'Help Wanted' sign in your window," Rory began, "and I'm looking for a summer job."

"That's great! I'll need to ask you for a résumé, but it's mostly as a formality. We all know you're reliable and responsible, and no one else has looked into it yet! Go home, think it over tonight, and if you want it, it's yours!"

A weight lifted from Rory's chest. "Thank you so much, Anne! I'll bring my résumé by tomorrow after school."

She turned to go, mentally checking off another task from her virtual to-do list, when she nearly tripped over someone entering the café. To her surprise, when she looked up, it was Jess. A wave of awkwardness hit her like the Great Wall of China; she hadn't spoken to him since their impromptu study session the night before, and she wasn't sure how to act.

"Oh!" Rory exclaimed.

Jess nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

He squinted inquisitively. "Getting food…"

"I just thought you'd be working right now," Rory said.

Jess shrugged. "I'm on break."

Rory nodded. "I, uh, can see that."

"I was hungry."

"Food is important."

"Lewis said this place is good."

"It is."

"That's good."

The stilted conversation cemented Rory's feet into the floor, and, though they'd obviously exhausted all topics of conversation, and Jess clearly needed to get around her, she couldn't move a centimeter.

"Do you need something, or can I order now?" Jess finally asked.

He was losing patience; Rory blurted the first thing that popped into her brain. "My Econ final was today."

"And?" Jess replied.

"You helped…a lot."

"Glad to hear it," he said, and his words were kind, but his tone was off. Rory heard indifference with a hint of sarcasm, and it unsettled her.

"I guess I'll see you at home," she said, trying to extend a veiled olive branch.

"I guess you will," was his only response, and the branch fell flat on the ground between them.

* * *

(End of Part One)


	8. Chapter Six (Part Two)

**Chapter Six: Guilt and Chanel No. 5 (Part Two)**

Later that evening, Rory tried not to pay too much attention when the front door swung open and shut— _but it's Jess, you know it is._ She stayed at her desk, _willing_ herself to focus: to focus on her upcoming final, to focus on graduation, to focus on literally anything other than the boy who was most likely sitting in her living room.

But it was like a fizzing feeling; it started inside, deep inside, and then came out into fingers and toes until it was everywhere. Her feet tapped a frantic beat onto the floorboards beneath her desk, and her hands itched for distraction. She rearranged her flashcards in a neat pile, organized the clothes hanging in her closet by season, stopped just short of dumping all her CDs out and re-categorizing them by genre—a task guaranteed to keep her occupied for at least an extra hour, because the lines between genres could be impossibly blurred and required much consideration. She returned to the desk and opened a half-used composition book, flipping to an empty page, and thus began the lists. Classics she wanted to plough through this summer, places she wanted to visit before she died, reasons she should love Sean, what she was most excited about for Yale…and after pages of "To Do-s" and Pro/Cons, she felt no less frantic. He was out there, and the knowledge created a particular buzzing, panicked energy within her, and she hated herself for it.

"I'm thirsty," she whispered. Then… "No," she responded (to herself). "You are _not_ thirsty, you just want to see if Jess is sitting in the living room." She paused, mentally switching sides of the argument. "No, I'm really thirsty. And I'd be thirsty whether he was in the house or not."

She never made it to the kitchen. As soon as she opened her bedroom door, she saw a thin slit of light emanating from behind his shut door and heard the faint strains of The Clash, and suddenly, her supposed thirst evaporated. And so she softly closed her door, refusing to emerge. Not when Lorelai returned and called them for dinner; not when she heard the two of them conversing over boxes of takeout; not even when Lorelai knocked on her door, bringing leftovers and asking if Rory was okay. She poured over her notes, funneled all her jitters into studying, and at 11 p.m., when the house was silent, she finally tiptoed down the hall.

But Jess's hunched figure had beaten her to the back deck, and the irony of the situation did not escape her. She'd hidden all evening only to run into him in the one place she found solace. The wind stole the screen door from her hand; it slammed shut, and his head jerked up and around at the interruption. She jumped, flustered.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" (Even though _she_ was obviously the one who had been scared. _Smooth, Rory_ , she told herself.)

Jess glanced at her incredulously. " _No_ ," he scoffed. "You have all the subtlety of a raccoon army downing a fleet of trash cans."

So she hadn't been imagining his tone in Sugar & Spice: something was off. She'd thought that yesterday might've changed his mind about her, but perhaps she'd been incorrect. "Is…something wrong?"

He caught her gaze in a fierce glare, and Rory squelched the urge to shy away from his anger. His insistence on silence fueled her own frustration, perhaps the only thing giving her the courage to continue this unexpected and uncomfortable confrontation. She joined him on the third step down, sitting as far away from him as she could.

"I don't understand." Infuriatingly (but unsurprisingly, Rory conceded), Jess still didn't answer; Rory pressed on. "How can you be so different?"

If Rory had expected this to spark some deep, earth-shattering conversation, she was sorely disappointed. "Everyone's different," he answered obstinately.

"I guess you've gone back to your old mindset," she said stiffly. "I thought we had fun last night. I thought…I thought things might change."

"What _could_ change?"

"Excuse me?"

"Rory, be _logical_. What _could_ change? We hardly know each other, and we're not going to. It's Wednesday night, the bus is coming tomorrow evening, I'll be on it. I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back."

"You're – you're _actually_ going?"

"What were you expecting?"

"Then give me the book."

"Excuse me?"

Rory calmly held out her hand. "My book. Give it back."

"No," Jess refused adamantly, pinching his mouth into a frown and drawing his eyebrows together.

"Jess…" Her voice trailed off. "I don't know your last name."

"Mariano," he supplied.

"Jess Mariano," she began once more, "hand me my book."

He shrugged. "I don't have it with me."

"That's a lie."

"How do you figure?"

"You've got it in your back pocket. You've always got one in your back pocket."

The right corner of his mouth quirked up. "You've been checking out my ass."

She shot him a withering stare. "I _have_ not."

"The book's inside."

"Return it when you go back in. You're not leaving with my favorite copy."

"You have _more than one?_ "

"They have different covers," Rory defended.

"And you trusted _me_ with your favorite?"

Rory finally snapped. This space-filling banter, this meaningless bickering—it was simply one more wall he'd erected between himself and a true friendship. On another day, she might've found it entertaining. She _had_ found it entertaining, even charming, his little comments about Tuck Everlasting and the stupid water jokes, his way of evading direct questions by throwing them back in her face. Now? Now, it was exhausting.

It was a lie, a barricade to revealing anything true, and suddenly, all she wanted was to curl up in her bed and forget. She'd wave goodbye to the constant nerves that arose whenever he approached, she'd gladly return to Sean's transparent simplicity without complaint, she'd pay Jess's bus ticket, even if— _especially_ if—it sent him across the country. ( _Maybe back to New York_ , she pondered, then realized New York actually wouldn't be that far from her once she began Yale.) She was no longer tiptoeing around a fear of making him mad. It didn't _matter_ if she made him mad, because he wasn't going to _be_ there anymore. The realization freed her tongue, and furious words lashed into the sand.

"It was supposed to be a peace offering," she spat. "It was a thank you. You spent hours with me last night, going over those stupid notes, and I didn't fail my test today. Because of you. I wanted to say _thank you_ and you _threw it back in my face_." She paused, careful to enunciate every word of the next sentence. "So. If you are leaving, I would like my book back."

"In the morning," he said, seemingly unfazed by her outburst.

She stood and turned, walked up a step, paused.

"Why are you doing this?"

"It was only ever a temporary stop."

"But Mom gave you a free place to stay, and Lewis gave you a job! A job I'd _kill_ for, by the way. This is an amazing town, we are _good_ people…we're a home."

"But not _my_ home. And you're welcome to the job, _by the way._ "

The words pushed at the tip of her tongue, pressing against her pursed lips. Her mind weighed the intelligence versus stupidity of speaking them aloud; in the end, her emotions blurted the rushed sentence. "People could care about you here."

A beat of silence overtook the deck. She stole a glance at the stone figure two steps below her; elbows resting heavily on his knees, head bowed in his hands, hands buried in that thick, dark hair, thoroughly unaffected by her words.

"I don't need people to care about me; I don't need anyone at all."

"Everyone needs someone," Rory said softly. "You'll see eventually."

As she trudged through the door, she tried to convince herself that it was a good thing. For the last few days, Jess had been nothing but a source of confusion and mental upheaval. All her problems would disappear when he did.

But it wasn't that simple. Because, as much as she told herself this was better, it somehow felt worse.

* * *

Rory's Thursday was off to a less-than-spectacular start. An unbiased third party could argue that Jess's harsh dismissal the night before could've had something to do with her sour mood; Rory, however, blamed Sean's adverse reaction to the news she'd decided to announce while sitting in his car before school.

"Why are you _looking_ at me like that?" Rory snapped.

"A job?" Sean repeated incredulously. "A _job?"_

"I _don't understand_ what the big _deal_ is!" Rory exclaimed. "Do you think I'm incapable?"

"What? No, baby, of course not!"

Rory sighed involuntarily, pressing a hand to her forehead in exasperation. She _hated_ being called baby.

Sean jumped on the gesture. " _What_?"

" _Nothing_ ," she hissed.

"No, you _sighed_ ," he insisted.

"What, I can't _breathe_ without you getting offended?"

"That wasn't normal breathing!"

"How do you _know_ what my normal breathing is?"

"Because I've been listening to you breathe for two years!"

Something in her broke—probably due to stress accumulated from Jess's appearance, finals week, the impending life changes looming over her summer—and a giggle erupted from her pursed lips.

Sean shot her an incredulous look. " _How_ is this funny?"

Though, logically, she knew laughter in this situation was completely inappropriate, the giggles threatened to escalate to full-blown hysterics. When she could finally catch her breath, she answered. "The ridiculousness of this situation hasn't occurred to you? We're literally fighting about my _breathing_."

Sean cracked a reluctant smile. "You've got a point."

They sat together, silent for a moment, allowing the dust to settle. Rory reached out and laid a gentle hand his shoulder. "I don't get it. It's just a job."

"Ror, this our last summer together. In three months, we'll be on opposite sides of the country. And you're _moving!_ Who knows if you'll even come back when Lorelai's not here? I just – I think I'm losing you, Rory, and it breaks my heart."

"Sean, it's just a part-time job. It'll be a couple of hours a day, a few days a week…I'll still have time for you. You don't need to worry."

"For now," he muttered.

Rory made a concentrated effort not to roll her eyes. He really could be dramatic at the worst times. "I've got my last final in less than twenty minutes, and I need to look over my notes one last time."

"We're not done here," he protested.

"My résumé is printed and ready to hand over to Anne," Rory countered. "This is my life, my decisions, so yes, we are _done_ here. Mom gets off early today—I'll get a ride home from her."

"Wait, Ror, don't just leave like – "

"I have a final I need to be focusing on," Rory interrupted. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and opened the car door. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Jess had never felt any particular kinship with Tom Sawyer. Though prone to trouble, at least Tom's family actually cared about him. But now, as he stood in the sweltering heat wearing his standard uniform—Chucks, band t-shirt (black Metallica today), and black jeans—and a roller dripping with soppy, globby white liquid, he suddenly understood why Tom had been so desperate to pass off the wretched job. Painting sucked.

Furthermore, aside from the heat and physical exertion, he was _bored_ , with his thoughts as his only company. As he climbed the ladder, as he dipped the roller into the tray, as he spread coat after coat of paint over linear strips of the wall, lyrics to the Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go" resonated through his brain. Though the words didn't _exactly_ line up with the situation, if he left Celestial Cove, there _would_ be trouble—financial, mostly, because he still didn't have nearly enough money. On the other hand, if he stayed, the trouble would indeed double; he'd have a way to make money and a place to stay, but the longer he was with the Gilmores, the less likely he'd be able to stay away from Rory.

He swiped at drops of sweat seeping into his eyebrows, only to realize he'd succeeded in spreading white paint from one side of his forehead to the other.

"Forget this," he muttered, ready to throw the roller onto the grass and give up.

"Young man!"

A woman's screeching voice startled him; he jumped and almost toppled off the ladder. He turned and saw an older woman standing on the other side of the fence, hands on her hips. A formally dressed man accompanied her.

"Excuse me, young man!"

"Are you _trying_ to kill me?" Jess griped.

The woman either didn't hear him or didn't care to reply. "Do you know where Lorelai Gilmore is?"

"No," Jess replied shortly.

She threw her hands in the air before crossing them across her light pink-clad chest. "Richard," Jess heard her mutter, "this is _just_ like her, disappearing left and right."

"It will be _fine_ , dear," the man answered reassuringly. He tilted his head up towards Jess. "But this _is_ her house?"

Jess rolled his eyes. As if painting in this heat wasn't bad enough, now he had to deal with irritating snobs. " _Yes_. Now, if there's nothing else I can do for you, I really need to get back to my job…preferably _before_ the paint dries?"

He turned away before they had a chance to say anything else, and, thankfully, he heard the crunching of gravel as the unexpected visitors walked away. Sighing, he descended from the ladder. Regardless of the heat, he'd need to get one of Luke's old flannels and hats—the flannel to protect his shirt, the hat to protect his hair. Before going inside, he stood back and surveyed his work. In nearly a week, he'd only managed to complete two walls; it would be _rude_ to leave a job halfway done…wouldn't it?

* * *

What had begun as a simple errand (handing Anne the résumé) had turned into a full-blown shopping spree. Lorelai had attacked sale racks at a few of the local boutiques, and Rory had spent over an hour browsing Lewis's shelves. By the time the Gilmore home was in sight, Rory was exhausted and ready to relax in her own room, looking forward to shelving her new books. In the distance, she could make out Jess on a ladder, painting the side of the house in broad, impatient strokes. She tried not to pay too much attention— _he's leaving soon, he doesn't want to be friends, you're never going to see him again—_ but the closer they got, the more challenging it became to ignore his clothes.

" _What_ is he wearing?" Rory muttered.

"Hmm?" Lorelai said.

"Jess," Rory clarified. "His outfit is just…weird."

The car stopped abruptly, jerking both girls slightly forward.

"Mom, you're…not driving," Rory said, slightly concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"I just _swear_ I've seen him before," Lorelai mumbled as she started driving again. "He looks so familiar."

"He's from _New York_. There's no possible way we've met him before. Are you finally losing it? Has your coffee consumption caused hallucinations?"

"Ha. Ha. _Very_ funny," Lorelai replied sarcastically. "Blame it on the addiction."

Rory shrugged. "He does kinda have a James Dean thing going on."

"No, it's the flannel and that backwards hat," Lorelai said. "There's something about it…I'm having major déjà vu. I feel like he's someone I used to know from a long time ago, maybe Stars Hollow? But that's ridiculous, because last time we were in Stars Hollow, you were five, so that means he was five too."

"But wasn't there someone in Stars Hollow who always wore a flannel?" Rory pondered. "I can't picture a face, but it makes me think of coffee…unless it was just one of the scarecrows in the town square around Halloween, and _you_ were the one drinking the coffee."

"No, there _was_ someone!" Lorelai exclaimed. "Luke! He owned a diner, and _oh my god,_ he served the _best_ coffee in Connecticut. And…"

Her voice trailed off, piquing Rory's interest. "And what?"

"Oh, nothing," Lorelai said, adopting the coy flighty tone of a cinematic Southern belle. She fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

"Mo-oom," Rory whined. "Tell me! You wouldn't keep a secret from your poor, curious daughter, would you?"

"Well, darling, curiosity _did_ kill the cat."

"Good thing I'm not a cat."

"Yes," Lorelai said in mock horror. "It would've been quite the trauma to birth a kitten. I'm just not cut out for the Stewart Little life. But maybe the labor would've been easier."

"Oh, gross!" Rory cried, laughing. "Would you just tell me already?"

"Wee-eell," she began, teasingly drawing out the word, "not only did Luke serve nice _coffee,_ he also served up a nice piece of _ass_."

" _Mom!_ " Rory yelped, scandalized.

" _You're_ the one who asked." Lorelai grinned, a mischievous glint in her piercing blue eyes. "I wouldn't mind seeing _him_ again, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe you _will_ see him again. He's still in Stars Hollow, isn't he?"

"I actually have no idea," Lorelai admitted. "But I can't picture him anywhere else."

By the time they'd parked, unloaded, and reached the front yard, Jess had disappeared around the back of the house, presumably taking the ladder with him. Lorelai pushed the gate open, letting Rory pass through first, and then paused. She sniffed the air.

"Do you smell that?"

Rory inhaled deeply. "Salty ocean breeze, leftover Chinese—the usual."

"No, no, no!" Lorelai insisted frantically. "It's – it's strange…it's _ritzy_. It's…" She turned and gaped at Rory. "Oh my _god_."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Whatever grand revelation you're about to have, can we have it inside? My arms are about to give out!"

"That's _your_ fault for buying so many books!"

"Oh yeah? Who's the one who instilled a love of literature deep within my soul?"

Lorelai groaned. "Lay off the Yeats already!"

"See you on the other side," Rory called, walking up the steps. She wrestled with the doorknob, just narrowly saving a pocket-sized copy of _The Portable Dorothy Parker_ from slipping to the ground at the last second, when the door swung open. Jess stood on the other side; he reached a hand out, and Rory ungracefully deposited half a dozen books into his waiting arms.

"Library goin' outta business?"

Rory shot him a strange look—he was talking to her again? "There was a sale at Lewis's. You're an employee, shouldn't you know?"

He shrugged.

"Thanks," she added.

A nod. (No talking—apparently she'd jumped to conclusions.)

"Feeling particularly monosyllabic today?"

Another shrug. "The verbal thing comes and goes." He handed the books back, one at a time, hanging onto the last one a long enough to read the cover.

" _Dickenson?_ " he asked incredulously.

"Hey, watch the tone, mister," Rory defended. "She's a classic."

"Classic doesn't mean good," Jess pointed out.

"She's _brilliant_ ," Rory amended.

"Try _boring_ ," Jess shot back.

Lorelai shoved past them, interrupting Rory's chance for a comeback. "Okay, _now_ can I tell you what it was?"

"Would anything _possibly_ be able to stop you?"

" _Her_ verbal thing never goes," Jess muttered.

Lorelai cleared her throat, ignoring their grumbling. "I have an important announcement to make." She ceremoniously spread her arms before declaring, "My _mother_ was here."

Rory laughed. "That's all? Mom, Grandma and Grandpa aren't coming until next week. You _know_ this."

"I _know_ what I smelled," Lorelai persisted. "Chanel No. 5, Emily Gilmore's signature scent. It _lingers_."

"It was probably just a tourist walking by," Rory said. "Now, please, for Pete's sake, let me shelve these books."

"Who's Pete?" Lorelai pondered aloud. "Seriously, who's Pete? I've always wondered…"

Her mother's voice trailed off as Rory walked down the hall to her bedroom, and Rory rolled her eyes affectionately.

* * *

"Kids, I'm home!"

As the front door swung open, bringing Lorelai and a plastic bag with it, a strange scent wafted through the living room. Something warm, something cheesy, something spicy. Jess inhaled deeply—it smelled faintly of Mexican food, but nothing like he'd ever eaten before.

"Wow," he caught Lorelai mutter. "I never thought I'd be saying _kids_ plural."

" _Mommy_ ," Rory yelled in a childish voice, bounding into the room. "You brought me Señor Sanchez? You shouldn't have! Actually, you definitely should have. After all the suffering finals week brought me? I deserve this." She shot a shy glance towards Jess. He raised a brow and smirked in return. There was nothing wrong with playing with a little fire, as long as he could keep it under control. "We _all_ do."

"Only the best for my valedictorian," Lorelai cooed, mimicking the high-pitched tones often heard in an infant's presence. "So," she continued in a normal voice, "table or couch?"

"Couch!" Rory asserted. " _Casablanca_ or _The Donna Reed Show_?"

"The _what_?" Jess asked.

"Wha-at?" Lorelai gasped. "You've _never_ seen _The Donna Reed Show?_ "

Jess shook his head.

"Then is there even a question?" Lorelai exclaimed.

"Don-na Reed!" Rory chanted. "Don-na Reed!"

Lorelai joined the cry, and it continued, albeit through mad giggles, as the mother and daughter duo grabbed paper plates, utensils, and three Coca-Cola cans. They spread the array of food on the coffee table; Lorelai settled herself on the floor, while Rory popped a DVD in.

"So, Jess," Lorelai explained, "this is how it works. Here"—she gestured to the four Styrofoam takeout containers—"we have six chicken flautas, six beef taquitos, a giant carne asada burrito, and a heaping portion of beans and rice. Serve yourself, and eat away."

" _This_ is Mexican food?" he questioned skeptically.

Rory returned and plopped down next to Lorelai. "You dare doubt Señor Sanchez?"

"Are there avocados?"

Rory dug around in the plastic bag and produced five small containers of guacamole.

"I'm sold."

Each served themselves, and the room filled with the clinking of forks and the _pop_ of soda cans opening.

"Well?" Lorelai said, as the two teenagers dug into their food.

"Well what?" Jess asked around a mouthful of burrito.

"Tomorrow's Friday," she said softly.

Jess looked around and shrugged. "Haven't finished the house," he said. "And Lewis still needs my help."

Rory studied her food harder than she'd been studying for finals all week, but Lorelai's wide grin was unmistakable.

"Good to have you, Jess."

Rory pressed play, the show began, and Jess lost himself in the Gilmore banter. Only a few days ago, he would've found it annoying, but maybe…maybe something was changing.


	9. Chapter Seven

**Thank you all for the amazing reviews! This chapter is deplorably late, especially since I let it sit, basically half-written, all throughout my winter break. So sorry! On the bright side, Chapter 7 got so massive that I ended up splitting it into two parts, so be expecting Chapter 8 very soon :) As usual, I do not own Gilmore Girls, and any lines you recognize are not my own. I used Rory's valedictorian speech from the show and slightly tweaked the grandparent portion, only because at this point in the story, Rory's relationship with them has been characterized by holiday visits and birthday cards.**

 **Review as you see fit!**

 **xx poodles**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Lost in a Sea of Blue Polyester**

Two sharp knocks on the door jerked Rory from a dreamless slumber. She rolled over, hoping it had been a figment of her imagination—today was her first unofficial day at Sugar & Spice, and she'd wanted to grab as much asleep as she could before then. She was _exhausted._ After a few short texts and apologies, things were technically patched up with Sean, but each "sorry" seemed more of a band-aid than a true solution, and the fights were becoming more and more frequent. Though her initial plan had been to gently break it off before the move to Stars Hollow, she wasn't sure she could maintain their relationship until then. The realization in itself was not a surprise; the resolve she felt in carrying _out_ the realization was. As if to add insult to injury, Jess's unexpected decision to stay longer had wreaked havoc in her mind. She could only resist the weird pull she felt towards him for so long. She'd fallen asleep with tears dripping from the corners of her eyes, and her eyelids still felt unnaturally swollen and gritty, as if her pillow had turned into a sandbox overnight.

To her intense disappointment, knocks sounded again.

"Mom," she yelled groggily. "Mom, the door –"

"It's 8 a.m. on a Saturday," Lorelai called, sounding equally as exhausted. "We don't have a door until at least ten."

The knocking persisted.

"Well, I don't think whoever's _at the door_ has realized that," Jess chimed in from across the hall.

"I can't walk this early," Lorelai moaned.

"I'm still recovering from my finals," Rory wailed.

A beat of silence. Then, from Lorelai:

"Je-e-e-ess?"

"No."

From Rory: "Ple-e-ease?"

"Absolutely _not_."

"Remember who's letting you stay here, kid!"

" _Unfair_ ," Jess howled, but a thump, slamming drawers, and the creaking of hinges declared his compliance. Rory had just snuggled deeper into her blankets, sighing contentedly, when suddenly a high-pitched squeal emanated from the outside world.

"What the hell are _you_ doing at the door? _Where is my daughter_?"

"Shit!" Lorelai shrieked. "Holy goddamn _shit_ , it's my _mom_ , oh my _god_ …"

A thump louder than Jess's resounded throughout the house.

"Owwww, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"

Yes, just as Rory had suspected—Lorelai had fallen out of bed. The door to the shared bathroom slammed open, and Lorelai hurtled onto Rory's bed.

"Oh my _god_ ," Rory protested. "I'm sleeping, get _off_!"

"Your _grandmother_ is here," Lorelai hissed in her ear. "And _Jess is our welcome committee_. Why am I the only one concerned here?"

"Maybe because you're the only one who's her daughter here. Now can I _please_ go back to bed?"

Jess's defensive tone interrupted the argument. "Hey, _lady_ , I don't even know who you are."

"I _say_ , young man, that is _quite_ disrespectful," a baritone blustered.

Lorelai poked Rory's shoulder. "We _need to get out there_!"

Rory cracked one eye open. "You're going out there like _that_?"

During the night, Lorelai's hair had half-escaped from her ponytail, but that was secondary to the rest of her ensemble, which included a ratty t-shirt, no bra, and an old pair of penguin-printed boxers.

"Rory, honey, there's no time to change. This is a life and death situation."

"Nooooo," Rory moaned. "No, no, no."

"I'll do your laundry for a month," Lorelai begged.

"You don't know _how_ to do my laundry," Rory countered.

"Your dishes!"

"We live out of takeout containers!"

"Your packing for college!"

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Rory sighed, rolling out of bed.

Lorelai dragged Rory to the hall, and they stumbled into the living room scene. Rory rubbed her eyes, partially unconvinced of the collision of her two worlds, but when her hands came away from her face, Jess stood still flanked by her estranged grandparents.

"Lorelai Gilmore, _what_ is your painter doing in your home this early in the morning?" The force to be reckoned with turned to Rory with a patient smile. "Hello, Rory."

"…hi, Grandma."

"Mom," Lorelai sighed, "what are you doing here?"

"Have you forgotten that your only daughter is _graduating_ from _high_ school this week?"

Lorelai gasped. "It's _already_ been four years? Time sure does fly… _No,_ Mom, I didn't forget. What I _don't_ seem to remember is agreeing to your early arrival."

"Well, your father had a few days off, and we thought we'd fly out early. We _tried_ to find you Thursday, but you weren't home!"

"I knew it!" Lorelai crowed. "Didn't I tell you guys I smelled Chanel No. 5?"

"Hmph." Emily peered pointedly around the house.

"What, Mom?"

"Nothing," Emily said primly, and then paused. "I just hardly recognize the place in the summer. It's so…empty."

"Well, a seven foot Christmas tree does tend to take up space."

Emily pursed her lips. "Honestly, Lorelai, would it kill you to add some decorations? New curtains? A piece of art?"

"Well, Mom, you never know."

Rory resisted the urge to smack her mother's shoulder, settling instead for an elbow to the ribs. _"Mom_ , _"_ she hissed warningly.

"Honey, have you seen the _cost_ of those paintings? It very well _could_ kill me."

"Are you done?" Emily said. "Why is your _painter_ in your _house_?"

"As usual, I have no idea what you're talking about. My painter?"

Jess raised a hand and saluted. "I think she means me."

"Oh, well, that's an easy answer. He's here this early because he lives here."

"He _lives_ here?"

Lorelai didn't answer, Rory fidgeted, Emily's facial expression turned practically apoplectic, and Richard averted his eyes.

" _He lives here?"_ Emily repeated, each word holding more horror than the previous. "If that's not the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard! Lorelai Gilmore, you can _not_ allow street rabble to congregate in your home! It's dangerous and plain unsanitary. I thought we'd raised you better than this."

Lorelai turned to Jess, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You're late for work."

Jess shrugged. "Doesn't open for another –"

"You are _late_ for work," Lorelai said again. "Leave through the back door."

He nodded and disappeared.

Lorelai reeled around, facing her mother once more. "The way you raised me showed me exactly who I _didn't_ want to be: a judgmental snob who speaks poorly of people who're standing in the same room. You have no right to decide who I do or don't let into my house. If you don't like it, you're free to leave."

As the bickering escalated, Rory slunk past Lorelai, curling up on her favorite corner of the couch. Most people looked forward to seeing their grandparents, and Rory wished with all her heart to be the same. However, her grandmother's comments set off a sick feeling in her stomach and an inexplicable worry that Jess would think her grandmother's views were her own—he did call her a snob, after all, and it couldn't possibly run in bloodlines, could it?

"Have you read any good books lately, Rory?" Richard asked, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He joined Rory on the couch.

"I just finished rereading _Mansfield Park_ ," Rory said with a modicum of relief. Books! Books she could handle. Books, she knew. She could carry a thousand conversations with a dozen strangers if they wished to speak only of books.

"Isn't Austen a genius?"

"One of my favorites."

But Richard didn't reply, and Rory tried to ignore the awkwardness of being thrust into an already-finished conversation with a man she only saw once a year. Meanwhile, Lorelai had begun pretending Emily had disappeared.

"Lorelai," Emily said, trying to get her daughter's attention. "Lorelai!"

The woman in question, in an epic display of the cold shoulder, looked to Rory.

"Did you hear something?" she asked. "There's the most _annoying_ buzzing noise in my ear, did you forget to close your window again last night? The mosquitoes this time of year, I tell ya, they're vicious. I mean – "

" _Lor_ elai, _please,_ " her mother huffed in exasperation.

Richard leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "We have a proposition for you."

"I'll get a pot of coffee started," Rory offered.

"Stay, Rory," Emily ordered. "This concerns you as well. Richard?"

Richard cleared his throat. "It has come to our attention that you are in a considerable amount of debt from Rory's private schooling."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "It's being handled."

"We'd like to pay it off," Emily said.

"What part of 'It's being handled' did you _not_ understand?" Lorelai interjected.

Emily continued, speaking over Lorelai's indignant objections. "It would be part of Rory's graduation gift. And, if it's alright with you, Rory, we'd also like to pay your Yale tuition."

Rory simply gaped. (She'd known they were rich, but not _that_ rich, not rich enough to offer four years of _Yale_ as a graduation present.) Lorelai, on the other hand, eyed them with decades of pent up suspicion.

"Cough it up," she said, holding out her hand.

"Ex _cuse_ me?" Richard replied, appalled.

"We're not _cats_ , Lorelai," Emily added haughtily. "We don't produce _fur_ balls."

"Where's the catch?"

"There _is_ no catch!" Richard protested weakly.

"Yeah right," Lorelai scoffed. "I'll believe that when I see a Destiny's Child reunion. Where's the catch?"

"Lorelai, all we want is for Rory to attend dinners at our house every Friday night. It's a perfectly reasonable request. After all, Yale is only about forty miles from Hartford."

"That's not a _gift!"_ Lorelai cried. "It comes with requirements, with stipulations, with strings! It's a gift on strings! Gifts aren't supposed to come on strings, puppets come on strings, and I refuse to let you turn _my daughter_ into one of your revolutionary American Girl dolls!"

"Oh, for _God's_ sake, Lorelai," Emily snapped. "It's the _Dau_ ghters of the A _mer_ ican Revo _lu_ tion _,_ not the revolutionary American Girl dolls. And, please, stop being so overdramatic. You're giving me a headache."

"Mom, I am _not_ being – "

In a split second, it occurred to Rory that there must be more to her grandparents than the snobbery displayed thus far. And asking for her next four years of Friday nights was nothing compared to the generosity of paying for Yale. Rory couldn't be certain, but it seemed as if Emily's gift and dinner stipulation was really a veiled ploy to help their daughter while fostering a relationship with their granddaughter.

"I'll take it," Rory said quietly.

"Rory?" Lorelai murmured.

"I'll take it," she repeated more confidently. "It's my graduation, my gift, my strings, should I choose to accept them, and if it saves Mom from performing unseemly acrobatics to find a way to pay for Yale, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Watch those promises," Lorelai mumbled. "Never know where they might lead."

For the first time, Rory watched Emily's face soften. "Lovely," she said. "Absolutely lovely."

"You could come," Rory said, "and then I could see _you_ every Friday, too!"

Lorelai frantically motioned to Rory, repeatedly wagging her hand across the front of her throat, but it was too late.

"Lorelai?" Emily inquired.

"Uhh, nothing, Mom," Lorelai replied unconvincingly. "We've just recently stumbled into some…uhh…money…I bought a winning lottery ticket, actually, I _told_ you I had all the debt stuff handled…and Rory just meant that _if_ I wanted to, I could buy a plane ticket and fly myself out to Connecticut and back every weekend. Which I don't. Want to, that is. I mean, that's almost fifteen hours a week on a plane, not to mention the time zone confusion and – "

"You're moving back? You're moving _back!_ " Emily cried. "You're moving back to _Hartford,_ and you didn't think it would be important to tell your own _mother?_ "

"When did I say I was moving back? _I_ never said I was moving back."

"Lorelai."

Lorelai's shoulders sank. "Yes, Mom, I'm moving back. Not to Hartford, but to Stars Hollow. Mia's retiring to Santa Barbara, and she knew I'd want to be closer to Rory. She offered me the manager position at the Independence Inn. We're moving at the end of August."

"Well," Emily said. Her feelings were hurt, Lorelai knew. Emily tried so hard to hide it, but, in an act of self-preservation, Young Lorelai had trained herself to carefully read between the lines of her mother's varying levels of indifference and politeness; this was a trait Lorelai hadn't been able to shake as an adult. "Richard, it's late, and I'm tired. I believe it's time to retire to our hotel."

"Have a good day, girls," Richard said. "Rory, we are _so_ proud of you. We shall see you both tomorrow afternoon at the ceremony."

The elder Gilmores gathered their belongings, and the younger Gilmores walked them to the door. After an awkward hug exchange on the front porch, Lorelai and Rory rushed back inside.

"How could you _tell_ them?" Lorelai howled. "Betrayed, by my own flesh and blood. Stabbed in the back by my own loin fruit. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Well, for one, you called me 'loin fruit,'" Rory grumbled. "Do I even _need_ another reason?"

"Probably not," Lorelai conceded.

"Mom, did you really think you'd be able to move thirty minutes away without Grandma noticing?"

"Wishful thinking, sweets," she said wistfully. "Wishful thinking."

* * *

It was way too early for Jess to show up for work, and Lorelai knew this; he was 99% positive she was just trying to shove him out of the house before Granny Gilmore _really_ exploded. Such a pity; it'd been a while since he'd had a good laugh, and old ladies ranting about his awful character always amused him. It was eons better than wandering around town, anyways. But he'd respected Lorelai's wishes, exiting with his jacket, Rory's copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ , and the half-finished postcard to Lane.

He leaned against the push door, lazily sprawling into Sugar & Spice. At just past 8:30, he still had another hour before Lewis expected him, and the café was the only place open at this ungodly time. Unfortunately, tousled hair and doe eyes met him as soon as he entered.

"I see!" Sara said, a cunning smile stretching across her face. "You finally decided to spill about Lane."

He scoffed. "Just here for the coffee."

"Come sit after you've ordered! It's lonely here so early."

Maybe he somewhat admired her stubborn persistence; maybe after having Lane, he felt the absence of a friend too sharply. Whatever the reason, after ordering and grabbing a medium coffee, black with no frills, he pulled out the chair across from Sara's and sat down.

"We're not friends," Jess warned.

She smiled.

"And I don't like you," he continued.

"Sure," she said, "whatever you need to tell yourself. So, let's get down to business. Lane?"

He groaned. _This girl._ Could she _be_ any more exasperating? "Lane is _none of your business_."

Just in time, a woman appeared with a steaming cup topped with whipped cream. A delighted expression overtook Sara's face. Jess thought it was happiness for the arrival of her frou-frou drink, but it turned out to be excitement over the server.

"Anne!"

Sara was up and wrapping her arms around the woman before Jess could take another sip of his coffee.

"How's it feel, almost being a high school graduate?"

"So _weird_ ," Sara squealed, that universal sound of female excitement.

Jess suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, settling instead for running a hand through his hair.

"And when is the actual ceremony?"

Sara sighed. "It's on Tuesday— _so_ stupid, because we don't even have anything Monday except an optional practice."

"So, where's Rory?" Anne asked, pulling up a chair to join them.

"I actually don't know," Sara said. "But, seeing as it's like _nine_ on a Saturday morning, I'd assume she's in bed."

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. "She's up."

Anne raised her eyebrows.

Jess shrugged. "Grandma and Grandpa Gilmore showed up. It held the makings of a shitshow. _Ev_ eryone was up."

Anne's eyebrows remained lifted, and it occurred to Jess that her reaction had less to do with Rory being awake so early and more to do with Jess's _knowledge_ of Rory's state of consciousness.

"He lives there," Sara offered.

"I'm sorry, _what_? You _live_ with Rory?"

"He ran away from home and needs money, so Lorelai's letting him stay with her."

"Hey, I can _talk_ , ya know," he snapped.

"Oh, _my bad_ ," Sara retorted. "After all, you've been so… _chatty_ in the past."

Jess glared, and Anne stifled a laugh. "You seem like the type Lorelai would take in."

"The type?"

"Loner, sarcastic, chip on the shoulder…from what she's told me, that used to be her. She's…she's really amazing. What she's done for Rory…"

An approaching waitress caught Jess's gaze, but he tore his eyes from her silver eyebrow ring before they got stuck there. She was the first Celestial Cove-ian he'd seen who didn't look like she belonged in _Pleasantville_.

"Anne," she intoned, "there's a problem in the back."

Anne grimaced. "Thanks, Mere, I'll be right there."

The girl walked away, shoulders half-slumped, black combat boots clunking. From the back, her hair—pink, short, and choppy—was visible, and Sara stared shamelessly.

"Who's _that_?" she whispered.

"Meredith," Anne said.

"Never seen _her_ before."

"That's because she works during the times you're normally in school."

"And _she's_ not in school?"

Anne shrugged. "Night classes, maybe."

"Hmm."

"Do I detect a hint of judgment, _Sare-bear_?" Jess sneered.

"She was just…very _scene_."

"Well, what did _you_ listen to in middle school?"

"Her _hair_ was _magenta_."

"And yours is white. Your point?"

Sara gasped and grasped a few strands of her short waves. "My hair is _not_ white."

"Okay, Sara," Anne said, interrupting the banter, "are you sticking around until Rory comes in?"

"She's coming in?"

"Yeah, today's her training," Anne said. "She's going to shadow Meredith around for a few hours, bus some tables, learn how to use the machines. It'll be a grand old time."

" _Meredith_ is training Rory?"

"Sa-ra," Anne said, a gentle admonishment.

Sara shook her head. "God help her."

* * *

It was the same dark wood tables, some high circles surrounded by stools, others lower squares accompanied by matching chairs; the tall counter with the adjoining pastry case; the chalkboard menu covered in Anne's looping script; she knew the one-room coffeehouse like the back of her hand, but now her hands trembled uncontrollably and anxious rocks piled in her stomach. She'd been here a million times, but it had never looked more intimidating.

A bored-looking girl with a bright head of hair heaved a sigh. "You Rory?"

"Um, yeah." Her voice was too apprehensive, practically inaudible, and so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, I'm Rory."

The girl eyed Rory strangely. "I heard you the first time."

"Is…Anne here?"

"No, but I'll be training you. It'll only take about an hour, probably. Cash register, coffee grinder, coffee maker, espresso machine, iced tea brewers, pastry counter, locking up…no, you can learn how to lock up the first time you work…hmm, maybe two hours." She stopped muttering long enough to look Rory straight in the eyes. "I'm Meredith, by the way."

"It's – uh – nice to meet you," Rory stammered. "What do I…do?"

"You're _shadowing_ me," Meredith said. "Do what a shadow does."

" _Oh_ -kay," Rory murmured.

"You'll be bussing too, but not today. That's pretty self-explanatory, anyways."

And so Rory began the long and arduous process of following Monotone Meredith's every step, peering awkwardly over her shoulder as she completed orders and worked the register **.** It was a delicate balance between giving her trainer room to work without distancing herself so much that she wouldn't be able to learn the process. Meredith, for her part, wasn't exactly helping matters. She kept her answers short, if there was an answer at all, and, after walking Rory through each of the machines as quickly as humanly possible, she clapped once.

"Well. That's all."

"I don't need to…practice, or anything?"

"Look, Aurora—"

"It's Rory," Rory grumbled.

"You won't be jumping straight into barista-ing"— _That's not a word_ , Rory thought with a sick sense of satisfaction—"and if you need to practice grabbing a pastry or pushing a few buttons for simple math, this isn't the place for you."

"This is…it?"

"You _need_ more to do?"

"No, I just – "

"Here." Meredith grabbed a broom and shoved it into Rory's hands. "Sweep the floor and call it good. Anne will let you know when your first real shift is."

Meredith returned to her post at the register, and Rory swept around the room, crouching down to reach a scrap of paper trapped beneath a chair leg. She leaned a little further, her fingers _just_ grasping the edge, and yanked it out, stuffing it in her pocket to throw away later. The bell jingled, indicating the entrance of another customer.

"Uh, Rory?"

At the sound of her name, she startled and slammed her head on the underside of the table. From her angle, all she saw was a pair of black Chucks and dark jeans, but that was enough. _Jess_. Great. Their first real conversation since the porch confrontation, and she was on the ground with a broom, clumsily hitting things like an idiot.

"Aw, jeez, are you okay?"

She glanced up. "Fine."

"What are you…"

"Working."

"I lost something, I think," he said. "I was here this morning…"

"What was it?" Rory said. "I can ask."

"It's…not important. I probably left it somewhere else anyway."

"Okay," Rory replied, but Jess still didn't leave.

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Look, I – I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're sorry?"

"For the other night when…when I was a jerk. Your mom is really cutting me a break, and it's – maybe – you might've been right. Maybe I do need someone."

She nodded once. "See you at home."

He flashed a brief smile. "See ya."

She watched him go, leaning against the broom, a flutter in her stomach that she hadn't felt in years.

* * *

 _Lane,_

 _I keep hearing that Phantom Planet song in my head—the inanely repetitive California one. Don't laugh. Hope you haven't choked yourself on that short leash yet._

* * *

Rory had discovered the piece of trash she'd picked up earlier was actually a postcard, and the cryptic message was driving her insane. As soon as her training ended, she rushed to Lewis's. Jess was nowhere in sight, but Sara sat cross-legged in the Young Adult section, clutching a book to her chest and crying. Rory stopped and cautiously knelt beside her friend.

"Sara?"

"Sorry, it's just so…beautiful and…sad…"

Rory gently pried the book from Sara's fingers as her sentence dissolved into more sobs. " _All the Bright Places_? This book should come with a warning label."

"It _destroyed_ me," Sara wailed, carefully swiping the tears from her cheeks. "Is my mascara—"

"Totally fine," Rory reassured.

"I don't think you came here to watch me cry," Sara sniffled.

"Not particularly," Rory replied. "But if you need to…"

Sara shook her head. "Spill."

"I found a postcard," Rory said. "To someone named Lane."

Sara hummed thoughtfully. "I heard Jess drafting something out loud the other day at the bookstore. And it looked like he was writing. _And_ he mentioned a Lane."

"Did he say anything about it?"

"Only enough to reluctantly admit Lane is a she."

"So I should give it back to him."

Sara shrugged. "There's no name on it. It could be anyone's. What's the address?"

"That's the other weird thing. Lane—whoever it is—lives in Stars Hollow."

"Rory, you need to send it!"

"I don't want to send someone else's mail!"  
"It's serendipity," Sara insisted. "Look, you put your home as the return address, maybe they'll send something back, and you can explain the situation. Bam! Instant friend in your soon-to-be new town."

"That movie was stupid," Rory groaned.

"First of all, that movie is amazing—well, John Cusack is amazing. I could've done without Kate Beckinsale, but that's beside the point. Second of all, that's not even the plot."

"Sara…" Rory said. "It just feels like an invasion of privacy."

"How? You don't even know who wrote it! Besides, you'd be doing them a favor."

"But what if it _is_ Jess?"

"Then maybe hearing from Lane is exactly what he'll need."

* * *

Rory took a stamp adorned with an American flag from Lewis's vast supply. She didn't include a return address, but she did drop the card at the post office on her way home. "Safe travels," she whispered.

* * *

After Jess's awkward apology, he and Rory seemed to have reached yet another shaky truce, and life went on. He steadily made his way through _Catcher in the Rye_ , while simultaneously reading _Anna Karenina_ , the latter going much more slowly than the former. He finished painting another wall on the house and started another. He worked sporadic hours at Lewis's, secretly enjoying his employer's company. Sara continued to rib him about Lane whenever she got the chance, but he never gave a definitive answer.

It wouldn't have been hard to shut down the line of questioning—Lane was just a friend, he'd _never_ thought of her in the way Sara implied, it had always been purely platonic—but Jess doubted Sara would buy the "just friends" spiel. Besides, he didn't want any of this getting back to Rory. The moment he admitted Lane even existed, Sara would tell her best friend, and then the speculation would start ( _he says they're just friends; he's probably lying; boys and girls can't be just friends, anyway)._ He knew how girls talked; he'd lived through years of hearing Liz gossiping, picking apart her flavor of the month's intentions. He was more likely to go to _college_ than ever being with Rory, but still. He didn't want her thinking there was a girl waiting for him "back home."

Things were volatile enough when it came to Rory. They held polite conversations but an invisible wall stood between them. It was his fault, he knew. He'd screwed himself over, with his reluctance to trust, his fear of letting people down, his hesitation to make friends. He'd been pushing her away, mostly because she terrified the hell out of him. She bantered with him, challenged him, tried to poke holes in his tough exterior; worse, he found himself wishing he could let her, and he couldn't afford that. _She has a boyfriend. You're unreliable. You'd end up breaking her heart. Lorelai would never allow it._

* * *

Tuesday came quicker than expected, and it didn't feel real. Even as she gripped the slightly crumpled speech scoured for mistakes and printed the night before; even as she sat with Sara and Sean and Sean's friends in the stifling, crowded gym, waiting to be escorted out; even as she surveyed the chairs lining the well-kempt grass, the football field awash in a sea of crimson cloth; it still didn't feel real.

 _It should feel more important than this,_ Rory thought. Novels and films portrayed graduation as a pivotal moment, a climax, a catalyst for change. She should be taking mental snapshots of the space around her, desperately wanting to hold every detail captive, but her cap slipped mercilessly down her forehead and the gown itched her bare calves and the wedges Sara had insisted she borrow threatened to turn her ankles in opposing directions, and mostly she just wanted it to be over.

It was a big accomplishment—she knew this. She was proud, and she knew her mom was proud. Rory was getting to do what Lorelai had never been able to do, and the day meant a lot to both of them. But she hardly knew most of these people; in her heart, the only ceremony she needed was a night with the person who meant the most to her: her mother.

As the group filed onto the grass, she stumbled, continually off balance in the damned shoes, and Sean caught her elbow.

"I've got you, babe," he said, shooting her a warm smile.

He was trying to be reassuring, but the gesture suddenly struck her as a violation. She didn't want him to "get" her; she prickled at the implication that he knew her better than she knew herself, and she bit back a sharp reply. He'd meant no harm, she was just being unreasonable—it was stress, lack of sleep, nerves about her impending speech. It had nothing to do with Jess deciding to stay, nothing to do with her hesitation about continuing the relationship, nothing to do with the stupid fight the night before.

The field fell silent as Headmaster Darving tapped the microphone. He delivered the necessary pleasantries before calling up the ASB President, the Senior Class President for their speeches, and the valedictorian. The presidents spoke first, delivering impassioned, clichéd speeches about moving on to bigger and better things; and, all too soon, it was Rory's turn.

She approached her podium hesitantly, attempting to focus on one single person. Sara, bless her, shoved two thumbs up in the air; but, because of their back row seats, looking at Sara meant looking at every single student in the audience. Rory finally settled on an arbitrary boy sitting in the front row and began.

"Headmaster Darving, faculty members, fellow students, family and friends, welcome. We never thought this day would come. We prayed for its quick delivery, crossed days off our calendars, counted hours, minutes and seconds and now that it's here, I'm sorry it is, because it means leaving friends who inspire me and teachers who've been my mentors, so many people who've shaped my life, and my fellow students' lives impermeably and forever."

The words came too quickly, tripping over one another to shove themselves out of her mouth. She paused and took a deep breath, readjusting her hold on the paper. _Remember to breathe,_ she thought. _Remember to breathe._

"I live in two worlds. One is a world of books. I've been a resident of Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County, hunted the white whale aboard the Pequod, fought alongside Napoleon, sailed a raft with Huck and Jim, committed absurdities with Ignatius J. Reilly, rode a sad train with Anna Karenina and strolled down Swann's Way. It's a rewarding world, but my second one is by far superior. My second one is populated with characters slightly less eccentric, but supremely real, made of flesh and bone, full of love."

She glanced up, catching Lorelai's eye. To Rory's surprise, Jess sat next in the spot next to her. Lorelai placed a hand over her heart and blew Rory a kiss. Jess, predictably, smirked. Rory continued.

"But my ultimate inspiration comes from my best friend, the dazzling woman from whom I received my name and my life's blood, Lorelai Gilmore. My mother never gave me any idea that I couldn't do whatever I wanted to do or be whomever I wanted to be. She filled our house with love and fun and books and music, unflagging in her efforts to give me role models from Jane Austen to Eudora Welty to Patti Smith. As she guided me through these incredible eighteen years, I don't know if she ever realized that the person I most wanted to be was her. Thank you, Mom: you are my guidepost for everything." Suddenly, it stuck Rory that her grandparents were here; they'd just made a huge offer, and it would be rude to not include them. "One last thank you: to Richard and Emily Gilmore, unfailingly generous people. I am proud to be their grandchild." Rory folded the paper, bowed her head. "Thank you all."

A sea of claps followed her as she wobbled back to the folding seat between Sara and Sean. Sara clasped her hand. "It's happening," she whispered. "It's really happening."

Rory nodded but said nothing. She was all out of words.

Rows emptied and refilled as Headmaster Darving called name after name beneath the unrelenting sun. Sara sighed. "Why'd we let Sean convince us to sit in the very back row?"  
"Hey!" Sean protested good-naturedly. "This was half your idea."

"We'd still be stuck sitting here the entire ceremony," Rory moaned. "The least they could've done is give us some shade."

"Oh my god!" someone further down the row shrieked. "We're next, we're next!"

"I guess that's our cue," Sean said wryly.

A teacher, dressed in the same black robes as the headmaster, motioned them up, and Sara stood, leading the row to the edge of the makeshift stage.

"Sara Marguerite Madison," Headmaster Darving intoned.

Sara walked across the stage and received her diploma.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore."

On shaky legs, Rory ascended the two steps and crossed the platform. She shook Darving's right hand, and he presented the diploma with the other.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. Before exiting the stage, she caught sight of her mother, making a grotesque expression. Without a second thought, she stuck her tongue out in return, wrinkling her nose and furrowing her eyebrows. The photographs would be hideous, but the memory was priceless.

The aftermath was perhaps more grueling than the ceremony itself. The field milled with overly emotional people—sobbing girls clinging to their friends, parents tearing up in photos, the works—and it was challenging to navigate the chaos.

"Did they all really like high school this much?" Sara muttered.

"You'd think they were losing a limb," Rory agreed.

"Oh Rory!" Sara keened. "How will I survive without you?"

"Somehow, my heart will go on," Rory said dramatically.

"But losing you would be like…losing my thumb!"  
"Jack!"

"Rose!"

"Jack!"

"I'm glad you two are having so much fun, but I, for one, actually _care_ about this occasion."

Sean was half-joking, Rory could tell, but also serious. Things like this meant a lot to him; he wasn't a mocker like Lorelai and Sara. The girls collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles, but ultimately stopped the teasing.

"I know," Rory said, once they'd composed themselves. "But it just seems so silly. There's still an entire summer."

"For _some_ people," he grumbled.

Rory almost replied, but stopped short at the sight of her mother rushing towards them. Jess approached more hesitantly, as if unsure about whether his presence would be welcome. Sara went to his side, and Rory felt a rush of appreciation for her best friend, accommodating and kind.

"How did I do?" Rory asked, grinning. "How do I look? Older?

"You were amazing!" Lorelai gushed. "Perfect, oh, my little graduate, my baby girl, I'm so unbelievably proud of you…"

Rory laughed. "Your opinion is _unbelievably_ biased. Jess?"

He pursed his lips. "You look…uh…scholarly?"

Rory shot him a hard look. "Be honest," she demanded.

" _Honest_ ly, this is the first time I've actually been thankful I didn't graduate high school." He chuckled. "I've never seen a more undignified outfit."

" _I_ think she looks amazing," Sean said. "Graduating is one of the most important things you can do in life."

"You _would_ think so," Jess snarked.

Sara laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let it rest," she said quietly, and then whispered something Rory couldn't hear. Louder, she announced, "I'll be the official photographer! Sean and Rory, picture? Then Lorelai?"

"And then I'll take one with you and Rory!" Lorelai offered.

Sean picked Rory up, holding her like a husband about to carry his new wife over the threshold, and insisted on a kiss. Rory suspected it was a way to mess with Jess, and she squirmed, but it was over quickly enough—then she smiled and hugged Lorelai, and repeated the process with Sara, and, when Richard and Emily found them in the crowd, posed with them as well.

Shortly after Emily and Richard's appearance, Sean's parents motioned him over, and Sara's younger brother popped up, dragging her back to their family, and the grandparents excused themselves, promising to drop by later in the evening for a proper goodbye.

"Well," Lorelai said, looking from Jess to Rory, "I guess it's time we get outta here. What's our celebration dinner gonna be, sweets?"

"Can we get takeout and do celebration sundaes instead?" Rory asked.

Lorelai kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Your wish is my command."


	10. Chapter Eight

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm sorry this has been so delayed. I thought I had a solid plan, but then something Lane needed to do popped out at me and disrupted my outline, and I ended up shifting _a lot_ of things around. Good news is that I have the next two chapters decently planned—most of the scenes are written, and I just need to weave them together. Again, so sorry for the long wait, and thank you to anyone who's still sticking around! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: You Don't Get to be James Dean This Time**

Jess stepped into the hallway to the tune of metal clinked dimly against thick glass, the unmistakable sound of someone eating cereal. It was Rory, alone, he knew. Lorelai was always at work by this time, and if Sara had been in her company, their nonstop chattering would be audible throughout the entire house.

He stopped just short of rounding the corner. The angle provided him a clear view of a slender figure folded onto a stool, hunched over the kitchen counter. A full cereal bowl sat dangerously close to tangled strands of hair tumbling over lightly freckled shoulders. A hand reached down, he heard a page turn, and it suddenly dawned on him—her curved position, her unbreakable concentration—that she was reading. Slight points below the curve of her neck alerted Jess to the fact that the saintly, virginal Rory Gilmore was most likely not wearing a bra, _again_. His heartbeat sped up slightly and he pushed it down. He'd just go back to bed. He knew Rory well enough to know his presence in her half-dressed state would only make her uncomfortable; leaving before she noticed him would be the right thing to do. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But…Jess violently shook his head. If he was a gentleman, Luke was a world traveler. He needed to enter the kitchen, if only be _cause_ it would make her uncomfortable.

To his intense disappointment, Rory seemed more interested in her food than his arrival: she simply glanced in his direction and went back to her giant bowl.

" _Good_ morning," he muttered.

She nodded once.

"Lorelai here?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"At work," Rory said around a mouthful of Frosted Flakes.

"Grrrrrreat."

She swallowed. "You're a _real_ comedian."

"Natural talent, what can I say?"

She sighed. "Look, this is the very beginning of my summer. These first mornings are…well, they're sacred, and all I want is to enjoy my book and my sugar overdose in _private_. So, no offense, but can you please go away?"

"No offense, but, no. I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because," he said, reaching for the cereal, "maybe I'd like to share in the sugar overdose."

She snatched it away just as his fingers grazed the cardboard. "Are your hands clean?"

"I _just woke up_."

"Wash them before you stick them in the box."

"Are you serious?"

"Everyone eats out of that!"

"Okay, _Mom_."

"Jess?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Shut. Up."

He made a big show of plodding to the sink, lathering his hands, and rinsing the suds down the drain.

"Oh, one more thing."

He groaned. "What?"

"Get a bowl."

He left Rory's side long enough to grab milk and the appropriate utensils, returning to plop down on the stool beside her. She narrowed her eyes.

" _What_ are you…?"

"Just doin' as I'm told."

"I _told_ you to leave."

"See, I interpreted that as a polite suggestion. A _suggestion_ I decided _not_ to take. But, hey, thanks anyways."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't talk."

He nodded. "Done."

He opened _Anna Karenina_ and slurped a spoonful of cereal-sweetened milk and complied with Rory's wishes. He lasted three bites before cracking.

"So Sean. What's the deal?"

"Jess, come _on_."

"No, seriously, what's up with that?"

"What do you even mean?"

"You walk around in a school uniform, you have one friend. I'd be willing to bet you have almost as many books as Celestial Cove's public library." He paused. "Wait. _Is_ there a library?"

Rory shook her head, a mournful expression overtaking her face. "One of the greatest town tragedies."

"Okay, so, you read endlessly, school is your life, you hang out with Sara. And somehow, Sean…what? _Surfed_ into your life?"

"Um," she muttered. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"More my backyard than my life, but I guess the general sentiment still stands."

Jess chuckled. "No way."

"Laugh away," Rory said. "It's more of a love story than you'll ever have."

It was an offhand comment, a teasing jab. It should've glanced off his carefully constructed armor, but somehow, it slipped between the rusty chainmail. His internal reaction made no sense—he had no problem acknowledging the truth in the statement. In fact, he relished it. He never wanted to be in love, and whenever he entered any sort of relationship with a girl, he made his intentions—or lack thereof—clear. He wasn't cut out for commitment. Liz and Jimmy were proof enough of that.

He stood abruptly and shoved his cereal bowl in the sink. Lewis wouldn't be expecting him for a few hours, but he couldn't stay in this house with her any longer.

"I have work," he lied.

"Later," she said, and he made a spectacularly anticlimactic exit.

* * *

There was a girl looking at him. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, where he was from. There was something that just _drew_ girls to him, maybe the mussed hair or the surly scowl or the leather jacket. (Probably the jacket, Jess decided. It _was_ a kickass piece of clothing.) Mostly in New York, but there'd been Shane in Stars Hollow (much to Lane's disgust) and Viv across the street from Jimmy's and no shortage of stares in between. So, no, there was nothing shocking about the girl checking him out.

Everything about her screamed summer, from her tiny shorts and tight top to her blonde hair to the faint air of coconut swirling about her. (She smelled like Santa Monica, Jess thought, like beaches and piers and sunscreen.) She was hot—more than that, she was beautiful, built like an American teenage boy's idea of a goddess. The real shock came from how little he could bring himself to care.

But she'd caught him staring in return, and she sauntered over.

"You're new," she said.

"What if I told you I've lived here my whole life?"

She smirked. "I would've noticed you sooner. Trust me."

Jess didn't trust her, not at all, but wasn't that the point? _Rory_ was trustworthy. Right now, he needed an antithesis to flood all thoughts of Rory Gilmore from his mind. So, he bit.

"You got me," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm new."

She smiled, then, the hundred-megawatt smile of a girl who got what she wanted, pearly teeth, a deep dimple, perfectly applied lipstick, and while it was different from her smirk, supposedly more innocent, Jess sensed it to be much more dangerous.

"Then it's lucky I ran into you."

"And why's that?"

"I'm having a little get-together tonight," she began, and Jess internally rolled his eyes. A _little get-together_ was snob-speak for party; he'd been on the receiving end of these invitations a few times from a prep school neighboring Stars Hollow, and they'd been anything but little. A party was honestly the last thing he would ever want to attend—he'd rather participate in Stars Hollow's annual dance marathon—but he could play.

"Special occasion?"

"Not _yet_." She leaned down, resting her hands on the table a mere few inches from his arm, giving him a spectacular view of her cleavage. "But it might be if _you_ show. Pen?"

Wordlessly, he handed over his pen. Before he could tell her otherwise, she'd scribbled an address across page 101 of Rory's favorite copy of _The Catcher in the Rye._

"It's in town. Be there at 8." She righted herself, adjusted her shirt, and turned to go. "Ask for Leila."

"My pen?"

She dangled it over her shoulder. "You'll get it back if you show."

* * *

"You're _still_ here," Lewis remarked dryly. It had become his standard way of greeting Jess, and the boy hadn't yet determined whether it irked or endeared him. The way his day was going so far, the pendulum currently swung towards irked.

" _Je_ -sus," Jess huffed. "How many times we gotta do this?"

"Presumably until you don't show up for one of your shifts."

"Dammit, Lewis, I'm not just gonna _go_. I'll let you know at least."

The older man's eyes twinkled beneath bushy brows. "It'll be hard to leave the Gilmores behind."

Jess rolled his eyes. "Not as hard as you'd think."

"Grandparents still around?"

"Not as far as I know. They had some sort of…discussion…a few nights back, met the girls for lunch the next day. Haven't heard from 'em since."

Lewis shook his head. "Good riddance."

Jess quirked a brow. "Strong opinions?"

"That woman…she's harsh. Both of them are, really. Don't approve of Lorelai's decisions. Wish they'd stuck closer to home. Wish they'd accept their money. It's…a complicated situation."

As had become their usual routine, the two men spent the remainder of Jess's shift occupying a wordless but comfortable space. After enduring the Gilmore girls' endless stream-of-consciousness dialogue, the bookstore's reverent silence was his daylight sanctuary.

* * *

Aside from the slight morning hiccup involving Jess's presence at the breakfast counter, Rory's first day of summer passed in the best way: peacefully and lazily. After a few hours of reading, she wandered downtown, bought a stack of books from Lewis's, and picked up a sandwich from the café before returning home and reclaiming her comfy spot on the couch. (She'd seen Jess conversing with Leila in town; this brought on a sharp jolt of annoyance and what was probably jealousy, but she tried her best to dismiss it.) She spent the remainder of the afternoon and the greater part of the evening immersed within the pages of Rainbow Rowell's _Fangirl_ , and when she finally emerged from her literary coma, the ocean breeze had cooled the day's heat.

Rory was contemplating which novel to read next— _A Study in Charlotte_ sounded promising, but she'd been dying to reread _Little Women_ —when the front door swung open, and the scent of melted cheese overtook her nostrils. Lorelai hobbled in, crippled by three pizza boxes.

"It's already time for dinner?"

"Babe, it's almost 7:30. What were you _doing_?"

Rory shrugged. "Reading." She stood and swiped the top two from Lorelai's hands. "Why so much pizza?"

"Well, _someone_ neglected the many, _many_ text messages I sent." Lorelai headed to the kitchen, Rory following close behind. "So I had to get them all."

They deposited the boxes onto the counter; Rory proceeded to prop each one open. "Cheese, pepperoni and pineapple, olive and mushroom— _I'm_ sorry, since when do we like olives? _Or_ mushrooms?"

"We don't."

"So?"

" _Jess_ answered me."

Rory rolled her eyes. " _Jess_ doesn't have a phone."

"I called the _house_ phone, too, space cadet. Where _is_ your phone anyway?"

"Charging somewhere," she said. "Probably in my room?"

"You should check it," Lorelai suggested. "I ran into a certain someone in town, and he did _not_ seem too thrilled about your disappearance."

"Sean?"

Lorelai nodded. "Sean."

Rory heaved a pained sigh but padded to her room and switched on her phone. She wasn't exactly surprised to see multiple missed calls and messages from Sean, ranging from "good morning" to "party tonight, wanna go?" to "hello, did you die?"

Rory groaned.

"What?" Lorelai called.

"Sean's convinced I either died or suddenly decided to hate him," she yelled.

"Oops!"

"Oops won't even begin to cover it," Rory muttered. She typed a quick apology and sweetly declined the invitation, making sure to attach three heart emojis—Sean loved that kind of thing.

Ten minutes later, Rory was right back on the couch, accompanied by Lorelai, a newly purchased novel, and four slices of pizza.

"How do you eat pizza and read at the same time?"

"Hmm?" Rory said, her mouth full of stringy, greasy, beautiful cheese.

"I've wondered for ages."  
Rory swallowed. "It's dangerous," she said, "but necessary. I've had—"

A knock at the door interrupted her sentence.

"I can see you, Gilmores!" yelled a cheery voice. "Open up."

"Sara?" Lorelai said.

"Do you even need to ask?"

Rory reluctantly put her plate on the coffee table, marked her page, and answered her friend's demand. Sara stood in the doorway, hands on hips, clad in a gauzy blush shift and strappy sandals.

"There's a party tonight," she said in greeting, "and you're coming with me."

"Good _bye_ ," Rory said pointedly, nearly closing the screen door in Sara's face.

"Rory, come _on,_ " Sara pleaded. "It's the beginning of our last summer together. This would be the perfect start to a spectacular season!"

"Why's Sara still outside?" Lorelai called.

"Your daughter is trying to kick me out!" Sara tattled.

"Why?"

"We're going to a party!"

" _You_ are going to a party," Rory corrected.

"It's at Leila Englert's," Sara continued, undeterred, "and you need to change _now._ We're aiming for fashionably late, not, 'Sorry, we got lost on the way here.'"

"I already told Sean no!" Rory protested. "Won't it look weird if I turn up with you? We _just_ stopped…you know…"

"Text him to let him know you're coming," Sara said. "And, for god's sake, put something else on."

"Mom?" Rory said desperately.

"Rory, hon, technically, you're an adult, and we both know you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions. But if I could influence you one last time…I think you should go."

It was late, and she was cozy, and she'd just started _A Study in Charlotte_. All she wanted was a night in—with Sean otherwise occupied, it'd be the perfect opportunity. But…Lorelai and Sara had valid points. And she'd done absolutely nothing exciting throughout her entire high school career…

She leaned down and hugged Lorelai. "You'll never stop influencing me, you crazy lady," she said. "C'mon, Sara, what should I wear?"

And that's how Rory Gilmore left her house at 8:02 wearing shorts, a lacy tank top, and a pair of flip-flops, feeling utterly too exposed.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Rory repeated for maybe the fifth time. "There's no soda?"

She stood in the massive kitchen, desperately seeking a nonalcoholic beverage—no easy feat, since the kitchen was apparently one of many liquor hotspots.

After losing Sara to a group of dancers in the living room, she'd wandered into a dining room, tucking herself away on a seat at the corner of the table furthest from the entrance. It was nice: aside from the rare lost party-goer, the dining room received little action, and the heavy door muffled the party's cacophony. She'd begun reading e-books on her phone to pass the time, but about forty-five minutes into it, she'd been struck with a craving for ice-cold Coke. Unfortunately, the lone occupant of the kitchen was a ruddy blonde boy behind the counter with a bottle of vodka. The state of his sobriety? Questionable.

Vodka Boy extended a red plastic cup in offering, and she rolled her eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd tried to hand it to her. "I don't want it."

"Why not?" he asked, though not completely coherently.

"I just _watched_ you add vodka!"

"Vodka makes it better!" he insisted.

"I prefer my Coke without substances that could kill me," she retorted, but he'd already lost interest and began to serve a brunette Rory vaguely recognized from her middle school years. She willingly took the vodka-diluted soda, and Rory rolled her eyes again.

"You know," said a deep voice behind her, "there're enough chemicals in Coca-Cola to kill you anyways."

Rory sighed. Facing the speaker would be unnecessary; she'd be able to identify his voice anywhere. "For someone who doesn't want any friends, you have a funny habit of showing up everywhere I go."

"You know it's not on purpose," Jess drawled. "They're all idiots out there."

"For what it's worth," Rory said, looking pointedly at him, "it's not much better in here."

"Yet here you are."

"It's not like I have anywhere better to be."

"At home with a book? Or maybe out there with Surfer Ken?" She winced involuntarily, and Jess raised his eyebrows. "Ah. Trouble in Malibu Barbie paradise?"

"There's no trouble," Rory snapped.

"Once again, I say: Yet here you are."

Rory sighed. "Just…sometimes a little space is nice."

"'A little space' as in you felt the need to put three thousand miles between the two of you?"

"It's not permanent."

"The college choice?"

"The…two of us."

"Does Ken know he's got an expiration date?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"I think he's about to find out if you don't shut up."

"What?"

"Just _don't look back_ ," he mock-whispered.

Rory looked back. The door to the kitchen was open; a blond head stood in the doorway, facing out towards the crowd. In a few seconds, he'd enter the kitchen completely and see his girlfriend, who was very obviously _not_ at home.

" _Shit_ ," she hissed.

"You _do_ swear," Jess exclaimed mockingly.

She elbowed him. "Save your astonishment for later. Sean _can't_ see me here."

"Back door to your left."

"I owe you." She hastened towards the door, but as she opened it and slipped outside, she realized Jess had followed her.

"Ah, you _run_ too."

"Why are you still here?"

"What, you think _I_ want to be stuck in there with him? The only way I could get him to shut up is by punching him. And I _doubt_ you'd want that. Although…"

"That's not the _only_ way."

"Well, making out with him is _probably_ off the table."

Rory groaned. They now stood on Leila's back deck, an intricate wooden creation overlooking the beach, adorned with wicker furniture and a mosaic firepit. After an hour indoors, she welcomed the brisk air, but other issues distracted her from fully enjoying her surroundings. "This is a nightmare."

"Alright, spill."

" _Spill_?" she echoed. _Spill_. As if they were friends. As if he was someone she would _ever_ choose to confide in.

"Jesus, Rory, you're _hiding_ from your boyfriend. Obviously _some_ thing's going on."

She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I already told him I wasn't up for a party, but then Sara showed up at my house and dragged me out."

"And you can't _explain_ it to him?"

"He's not… _like_ that."

"Like what? Understanding? Able to consider multiple perspectives? Capable of basic intelligence?"

Rory shook her head. "You don't know him."

"You'll come for Pixie Stix, but not Ken." He rubbed his chin. "Well. Isn't _this_ a conundrum."

"Pixie Stix?"

"Such unnatural cheerfulness could only be attained by unholy amounts of sugar."

Unwittingly, a giggle bubbled up. "You're terrible," she said, but the giggle turned into full-blown laughter. "That…is a _terrible_ thing to say."

"But true," he insisted.

"But true," she conceded.

The shared joke dissipated the outside tension: Rory watched Jess's shoulders droop slightly; his fingers, which had been drumming his thigh in a fidgety tempo, still; his mouth and brows quirk upwards in a similar fashion.

"I thought you didn't like people."

"I don't."

"But you're here."

"I was invited."

"Yes, you seem the type to accept invitations."

He smiled, almost sheepishly. "She took my pen."

"Leila's…persuasive."

"That's _one_ word for it."

Rory peered through one of the windows. "Sean's gone. I think…"

"We should go?"

"Well, I need to tell Sara first, but I'm not sure where she went."

"Search at your own risk."

"Oh, c'mon. You're not going to go back to _my_ house _without_ me."

"Hey, _I_ don't have any reason to stick around."

She swatted his shoulder. "Please."

He heaved a sigh. " _Fine_."

* * *

Jess and Rory circled the living room for the third time. They'd been looking for ten minutes and had seen no hint of Sara. It was hot; it was crowded; it was loud. Rory was quickly losing patience.

"I don't see her."

Jess shook his head and held a hand up to his ear.

Rory took a deep breath and tried again. "I DON'T SEE HER."

"SARA!" Jess yelled.

Rory heard a faint, "Christian?"

"Christian?" Rory echoed.

"There she is."

Sara burst forth from a group of people, and she bounced over to them, a floppy-haired boy in tow. "Guys!" she exclaimed. The boy hung back behind her. Rory tried to make out facial features, but in the dim lighting, only see dark eyes and brown waves were visible. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Jess leaned to Rory. "Is she normally like this?"

"She's _t – i – p – s – y_ ," Rory mouthed.

"And tipsy people can't spell?" Jess returned.

"Tipsy _Sara_ can't."

"This is Dave!" Sara yelled, shoving Mysterious Floppy Boy in front of her. "Dave, this is Rory, and this is – "

"Jess?" Mysterious Floppy Dave interjected incredulously. "What're you doing here?"

Jess cocked his head and squinted. "Shouldn't you be across the country right now?"

"You already know Jess?" Sara said, glancing inquisitively between the two boys.

Jess's stance had noticeably tensed, his shoulders squared and hands thrust into fists. Rory shifted uneasily—there seemed to be an equal chance of Jess either hitting Dave in the face or pulling him into a bro hug, and Rory harbored no desire to be caught in the crossfire of either.

"I came out early," Dave explained nonchalantly. If he noticed Jess's unfriendly demeanor, he ignored it. "There's a summer session offered at my college, and I thought it'd be a good opportunity."

"You left her."

It was less question, more statement, and, for the first time in the encounter, Dave's brown eyes shed their friendly twinkle; his brow furrowed as his mouth tightened into a firm line. Sara and Rory exchanged dubious glances, and Sara subtly jerked her head to the side, indicating Rory should move. As Dave's expression grew increasingly hostile, Rory hastened to Sara's side.

"We both agreed – "

"You _left_ – "

"It was _mutual –_ "

"You – "

"You left first!"

"I wasn't _dating_ her. I had no other options!"

"This is for my future, man!"

"Last I knew, she _was_ your future."

"We're eighteen. It wasn't easy, but it made the most sense!"

"You don't just _leave_ someone like that!"

"Apparently, _you_ do."

Jess lunged, and Rory quickly threw herself in his line of movement. He crashed into her, all lean muscles and hard planes, and she couldn't breathe. It was the party's atmosphere, dark and pounding and seductive; it was the charged passion of the entire situation, pulsing with suppressed emotions; it was his body rammed flush against hers, and her knees quaked and shivers tickled her spine and his warm, angry breath pushed wisps of her hair into her eyes. She caught a hint of hair product and a bit of deodorant and a waft of sweat, and then she channeled all her strength into shoving him away.

Sara grabbed an unsuspecting Dave. "I'll introduce you to some other people!"

Jess flipped off Dave's retreating back before turning back to Rory. "What was _that_ for?"

"You – you idiot!" she sputtered, eternally grateful for the lack of decent lighting. (The blush would _not_ go away.)

"If I'm such an idiot, why'd you _stop me_?"

"Because you're an idiot I can't bring home _bruised_!"

"And _why_ the hell not?"

"Because Mom cares about you, you idiot!"

"Stop calling me an idiot!"

"Then stop _acting like one!_ "

Rory grabbed his arm and started pulling him through the crowd. She focused on the front door, a metaphorical light at the end of a dark tunnel, practically fantasizing about gulping in huge lungfuls of fresh, unpolluted air, but as soon as she stepped onto the porch, a familiar hand grasped her elbow, impeding any progress.

"Rory?"

She closed her eyes for a second, willing it to all go away. If she tried hard enough, could she pretend it was a bad dream? But no; when she opened her eyes, Sean's confusion had morphed to a menacing glare, predictably directed towards Jess.

"You said you were staying at home," Sean shot accusingly.

"I know!" Rory hastened to reply. Jess scoffed indiscreetly, though Sean ignored it, and Rory only acknowledged it long enough to place a calming hand on his wrist. "Sara dragged me last minute, and I didn't have a chance to – "

"To let me know you were leaving with the _stray_?" Sean spat.

"That's it," Jess muttered.

He ripped his arm from Rory's palm quickly enough to leave a slight burn and swung at Sean, connecting squarely with his jaw; then they dissolved into a blur of fists and obscenities as Rory watched helplessly from the sidelines. This role didn't suit her, the damsel standing by as men pummeled each other, and the entire situation disgusted her. They were _all_ idiots, she decided, herself included, because she'd come willingly to the party in the first place.

The next time they tumbled by, Rory stuck a foot out, hoping one of them would trip, secretly willing it to be Jess; unfortunately, Sean's foot caught hers, and he stumbled, allowing the other boy one last punch to the shoulder before she finally screamed, "STOP. IT."

"You _tripped_ me," Sean said.

She shoved an accusatory finger into his chest. " _You_ are being absolutely ridiculous and _rude_. I can't believe you! And _you_ "—she turned to Jess—"have no business punching my boyfriend, or anyone for that matter. I have no idea who Dave is, or why he elicited more emotion from you in thirty seconds than any of us have since you came, but that's _not Sean's fault_. I'm going to walk home now. I'd appreciate it if neither of you followed."

"Rory!" Sean yelled. "Rory, wait!"

"Man, leave her alone," Jess muttered.

She felt an unwelcome rush of gratitude for Jess, but as she turned the corner, pattering footsteps indicated the thankfulness was unwarranted. She sighed. "I thought I told you not to follow me."

"Hey, it's not my fault we're going back to the same house."

"You were at the party!"

"But right _now_ , I'm outside on the sidewalk. I'm not sure you grasp this whole conservation concept."

"Go back!"

He shrugged. "Rather not."

"I don't get it!" Rory yelled. "I don't understand you at all!"

He spread his arms out, took a few steps backwards. "I'm an open book, baby."

"Oh _please,_ " Rory spat. "You're a pistachio nut that's _completely_ closed, the kind that people leave at the bottom of the bag because there's _no way_ they can get the shell open without tearing their fingernails."

"Put a lot of thought into that analogy, did ya?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to hit him."

"Hey, he came for me first."

She repeated herself slowly. "You didn't have to hit him."

"I had _momentum._ "

"No, you have a massive _chip_ on your shoulder."

"We walkin' home or not?" He mimed an overexaggerated shiver. "I'm startin' to get a little chilly."

She turned on her heel and began marching. "Jess Mariano, you are the most exasperating person I've ever met."

"Yeah, yeah, Gilmore, I've heard it all."

* * *

When they were almost home, she paused, internally debating whether she wanted to enter or not. Lorelai _could_ be sleeping, but if she wasn't, Rory didn't feel like rehashing the events of the evening. It would be nice to linger, continue the conversation with Jess, do anything but go inside. But, realistically, there was no other option. Jess was a boy who wasn't sticking around, and she was a girl who didn't _do_ things like that—and, furthermore, a girl with a boyfriend.

Jess gestured to the gate. "See, I feel like you're determined to keep me out in the cold. Frostbite? That your plan?"

"You're going to get frostbite here _without_ getting in the ocean? Impressive."

"Are you telling me _no one_ in the history of Celestial Cove has gotten non-marine-related frostbite?"

"I am."

"You got the stats to back up that claim?"

"Jess."

"Rory."

"You're absolutely ridiculous."

"Look, we goin' in or not?"

"I'm…" Rory hesitated. The remainder of her night depended heavily upon her next answer. "…fine either way."

"Doesn't matter to me. Whatever happens, I won't be sleeping."

"Beach is nice at night," she said.

"I know."

And though neither had explicitly agreed upon their next action, they stepped in unison to the sand. When the back porch light had faded in the distance, Jess kicked aside a chunk of dried kelp and sat down, extending his legs out, crossing one ankle over the other.

"I feel like we've been here before," Rory said, forcing a small smile upon her face in an attempt to hide her nerves.

"You _stepped_ on me last time," Jess reminded, chuckling softly.

"It was an accident."

"Aw, a _sea_ gull would've hurt more." When Rory still stood, unsure of what to do, Jess lightly patted the sand beside him. "Gonna sit?"

Rory lowered herself to the ground and settled into the beach, careful to keep a safe distance from Jess. She caught a whiff of his scent, something a little spicy and leathery and masculine, sweeping her back to the incident at the party less than an hour before. Her insides whirled into a tornado of butterflies. _Keep breathing,_ she thought, _and quit being so stupid._

"You must not think much of me," he said.

"I hardly think about you at all," she blurted defensively.

He quirked a brow, smirking. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks. But that's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you…?"

" _Catcher?_ Really? What about me screams Holden Caulfield? He's a nut, in case you hadn't noticed. It's _very_ unflattering."

Rory snorted. (It was a particularly unattractive snort; she couldn't help it. _Besides, you shouldn't care whether you seem attractive or not,_ she thought. _For the last time, you have a boyfriend._ ) "You mean, besides your entire persona?"

"My persona?" he echoed.

"Yeah, you know, what you wear, how you act…" Rory let her voice trail off. There was more she could say—there was always more she could say about him—but uttering her observances out loud would tell him just how much effort she put into trying to figure him out.

"Interesting choice of words," he mused.

"Is it?" Rory challenged.

"Doesn't a persona imply a façade?" Jess pointed out. "A front? Saying Holden encompasses my entire persona implies that it's not really who I am."

"It's _not_ who you are," Rory said. "I don't think it's even who Holden was. He was lost and hurting and sorta desperate to feel, but he wasn't half as detached and cocky as he set out to seem."

"And neither am I?" Jess guessed.

Rory shrugged. " _I_ don't think so."

"But you don't know me."

"I know you better than I did a week ago."

"And in that span, you've decided I'm not who I really am?"

"I think who you really are is closer to the boy who devised a candy system as a study method."

"It _was_ ingenious."

Rory shook her head. "You're evading."

"I'm evading?" he echoed. "What am I evading?"

"The answer."

"What answer?"

"The answer to the question _you_ asked me!"

"What question? I never asked you a question!"

Rory groaned in frustration.

Jess clicked his tongue. "You've officially lost your mind."

"And _you're_ officially evasive."

He sighed overdramatically before conceding. "I asked you why you chose _Catcher,_ didn't I?"

A beat of silence. Rory stole a glance, but his profile had tilted in the opposite direction, gazing to the wide expanse of dunes and waves. "You act like Holden," she began slowly. "You want us to think you don't care at all about anything. He ran away from school, and you're – well – you're running from _some_ thing."

"Is that all?" Jess asked, maintaining a disinterested stare and blasé tone.

Rory shrugged. "You seemed like the type of person who enjoys Salinger."

"You know, I've read it before."

She smiled; she'd been almost certain that he had, and it was always gratifying to correctly guess someone's literary tastes. She knew him. She might not know a lot _about_ him, but she knew him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Rory said. She pushed the corners of her mouth down, fighting the grin. "I just thought you might have."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? You haven't given it back yet; it obviously isn't bothering _you_."

"Maybe I'm not even reading it. Maybe I'm just scribbling meaningless drivel across the pages."

"You'd better not be scribbling _anything_ across my pages."

It was somewhat of an empty threat; she'd noticed he carried around the book with a pen in hand, and if it had bothered her, she would've said something already. If it had been anyone else… But instead of feeling protective over the pristine white pages, some part of her ached in anticipation. He'd give the book back with his thoughts in it, and she already suspected access to Jess's thoughts was near impossible to gain.

"My notes are worth having."

 _I know,_ she thought.

A gust of wind whirled through their silent space, and she shivered.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Not really."

"If you say so."

More silence.

"Jess?"

"Mmm."

"Why are you here?"

"Thought you knew."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I can't sleep," Jess replied. "Coming out here usually helps."

"No, I mean, in Celestial Cove. In California, even. It's a long way from New York. Especially by bus."

"Yeah, but it's a hell of a way to see the country. And it beats riding in the bed of a truck."

Rory burst out in peals of unexpected laughter. "Oh don't tell me. You read _On the Road_ while you were… _on the road_?"

He laughed too, and Rory shivered again, this time for an altogether different reason—for the joy in that sound, for the new twinkle in his eyes, for the dimples that popped deep in both cheeks.

"Hey, don't knock Paradise," he said. "And seriously, are you cold?"

She ignored him. "But what about your parents? Don't they care where you are?"

"Do I _look_ like the kinda guy with loving parents?"

"Honestly, Jess," she said softly, "I'm still trying to figure out _what_ you look like to me."

He took a deep breath and upheld a stubborn refusal to face her. "You tell me the deal with your dad, and I'll tell you why my parents don't give a shit where I am."

"What if there's not a deal with my dad?"

"Oh, _there's_ a deal with your dad."

"And you know this because…"

"Lorelai said something in passing, there was an unbelievable amount of tension with your grandparents…I know a screwed up family when I see one."

Her chin jutted out defiantly. "We're not screwed up."

"The situation is…unconventional," he amended.

"My grandparents are…rich. Probably more than rich." She paused. "Probably more like wealthy. Before we moved here, we used to go to their house for Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters, and it's just…ornate. They're all into fancy parties and cocktails, and I think my mom felt suffocated. When she got pregnant, they wanted my dad to marry her, and he was going to go along with it. But she knew she was too young to get married, so she left and eventually, we ended up in California. He visits, but every time they're together, Mom acts like a fifteen-year-old idiot…I thought it was a good sign, when I was younger."

She took a deep breath, unsure if Jess still followed. She didn't usually talk this much at a time, and it felt weird. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod, and so she continued.

"I thought it meant there was still hope for them. It seemed romantic, like a long-lost love. What would be better than my parents getting back together? But now I think he's a part of her past that she's afraid of letting go. She's dated a few times, but never anything serious. It's almost like she doesn't know how. And I think that as long as he comes around, she won't be able to. Every time, he gets her hopes up, and every time, he leaves. I love my dad, but he's not reliable."

"And where do the rich—oh, excuse me, _wealthy_ —grandparents fit in?"

"Grandma's feelings are still hurt that Mom left, and Mom's feelings are hurt because she's felt like nothing she's accomplished can please them, and both of them are too proud to admit it. Plus, Dad also came from a rich family, and Grandma really wanted them to get together—legally, not in the way that made me. On paper, he would've been a great addition to the family tree."

"God." Jess grimaced. "It sounds like a dog breeding business."

"Your turn," she said, happy to pass the spotlight.

"My mom was an addict—addicted to everything at some point, to alcohol, to drugs, to _men_ —and I fended for myself in New York. During one of her longer clean spells, she noticed me acting out and decided to send me off to my uncle. Hell if _he_ knew what to do with me. First thing he told me was if I didn't graduate high school, I wouldn't have a place to stay, so when I quit going, I didn't bother sticking around long enough for him to throw me out. Visited my dad for a few months down in Venice, and now I'm here."

After the lengthy biography she'd given him, Rory didn't want to let Jess get away with a SparkNotes version of his parental issues, but pushing could also result in shutting down, and she didn't want to take that risk, not after the last talk they'd had outside. Instead, she settled for more questions.

"She just…sent you away? And then you _left_? High school? Your family?"

"The last time I'd seen him, I was eight. Hell, Rory, it wasn't much of a family."

"But, school?"

"Look at me, Private. High school's pointless for a guy like me."

"A guy _like you_?" Rory repeated. "What, a reader? An intelligent human being? I know you're smart, Jess, because you're a smart _ass._ "

"Ooh, she's pulling out the grown up words!"

"Shut up. Shut up, okay? Stop it with the sarcasm every time someone tries to be serious. It's not funny anymore."

"It was at first, though?"

Rory didn't even dignify _that_ comment with a response.

"My dad drifted," Jess volunteered quietly. "He went here and there, never staying in one place long. I didn't see him, and Liz couldn't stand him. I don't think he ever wrote me, he wasn't the type, but if he did, she probably ripped any letter to pieces before it got to me." Rory guessed Liz was his mom. "My dad's a screw-up, and my mom's been in and out of reality as long as I can remember. I never had someone showing me what I should be doing to be good. All I learned is how to fail. And even if I hadn't, there's no money. I know I'm not going to college, and I hated high school, so why bother?"

"But you have potential!"

"All I was thinking was that I could _potential_ ly end up shipped back to my mom and her son-of-a-bitch boyfriends. And there was no way in _hell_ I'd let that happen again."

His vehemence surprised Rory, and something occurred to her. "Did they ever hit you?"

"I'm not sure you want me to answer that," Jess said.

"Is that – was it – your mouth?"

"What about it?"

His mouth quirked up, a bemused half-smile, and her heart dropped a little. In the dim light, shadows softened the New York sidewalks and lonely childhood days; his tense jaw was almost invisible, and his voice held less of its characteristic animosity. Slowly, she reached up and brushed the left corner of his mouth. Ocean air possessed a certain chill at night, but, under her touch, his face was warm and smooth, broken only by the faintest hint of stubble.

"It's crooked," she explained softly.

"I smirked so much, it stayed," he replied earnestly. "Honestly, I'm surprised your irises aren't stuck at the top of your eyes."

She cocked her head and fixed him with a patented Gilmore stare. His eyes met hers, and she found herself admiring his long lashes.

"Just dead nerves," he said. "It was like that when I was born."

"Oh," she said faintly.

She broke eye contact, fixing her gaze on a strand of dried seaweed behind him, attempting to calm her racing pulse, but her index finger still rested on the corner of his mouth, and she couldn't help realizing how simultaneously amazing and wrong this entire situation was. He pushed his face further into her hand, until her palm cupped his cheek, and exhaled, a long shuddering breath, and it hit her, for the first time, that maybe he felt nervous too.

"Rory."

His voice was low, raspy, rich with emotion. Still avoiding his eyes, she allowed herself to lean forward until her forehead tapped against his, and his breath warmed her left cheek, and she could tell her hair was tickling his wrist by the slight twitch of his hand, and his mouth was inching toward hers, and, _oh god_ –

She jerked back, this time reclaiming her hand. "I need to go inside."

"What?"

"Jess, I need to go inside," she repeated.

"No – wait, Rory – "

He was stammering, she noted. Jess never stumbled over his words; he never spoke unnecessarily, and, as a result, his sentences always sounded well calculated. Unsteadily, she stood, panic tightening across her ribcage. "I work tomorrow, I need to go inside, I should be sleeping right now."

" _Rory_ ," he yelped, almost pleadingly, but she was already rushing away, slipping through the dunes as quickly as the thick sand would allow.


	11. Chapter Nine

**You guys, I totally suck at updating. I'm so sorry! I have a vision for this story, but things (like life, school, political climate, inspiration, etc.) keep getting in the way. As always, thanks for the kind words and random reviews that re-inspired me. Stay tuned for the next chapter; hopefully it won't take almost a year to upload. As usual, I have about half of it written, but who knows how long it'll take me to write the other half? Thanks for sticking with it! And as always, thanks for the kind words and random reviews that re-inspired me.**

 **Chapter 9: Let Me Rock**

 _Stars Hollow, CT_

The sky was clear and blue, the weather balmy. A warm breeze wafted through town, carrying the scent of burgers and freshly cut grass. Soft curtains fluttered, dancing around an open window, urging its occupant to join in the summer reveling, but Lane Kim simply rolled over and faced her wall. How could she even think about having fun?

After her best friend of almost two years had quite literally disappeared in the middle of the night, her morale had been low, but not depleted. She missed Jess, but Dave was _amazing_ company, and besides, juggling a secret band and a secret boyfriend, hiding the aforementioned relationship from her secret band _and_ her freakishly omniscient mother, and doggedly dodging senioritis and maintaining her schoolwork didn't leave _anyone_ time to miss _anything_.

Directly after their graduation ceremony, however, Dave had dropped an elephant-sized bomb on her life and their relationship: he was leaving for California three months earlier than planned to take a summer program that would "make the transition into college life less painful." (His words, not hers.) And, to top it off, he thought they should take a break. ( _Until when?!_ Lane had mentally exclaimed. _Four years later? Just break up with me for good and save me the pain of expecting you to come back for me.)_ With Dave gone, Jess MIA, and the band in a constant funk, Lane, for the first time in weeks, had time to process her grief. And, man, was it brutal. She spiraled violently between sobbing and cleaning and a sickening desire to burn all her possessions. She didn't sneak over to Luke's, she stopped showing up to band practices, she'd called in sick to her job as a receptionist at the Independence Inn for almost a straight week, and she avoided human interaction at all costs. Almost overnight, Stars Hollow had become a minefield of memories, stamped with recollections of Jess, Dave, or, in some cases, both; and she was thoroughly unprepared to deal with the damage it would certainly cause.

There was only so long she could huddle inside her room—Mama held family members to strict standards, one of these being regular appearances in general living spaces. So far, she had been slipping by on insisting she was holding personal devotional sessions and praying vigorously for guidance in her post-high school life, but that wouldn't hold up much longer. As if to confirm Lane's suspicions, the stairs squeaked. Lane winced. Incoming in _three, two, one…_

"Lane!" Mama bellowed.

"I'm praying, Mama!" Lane called.

"Come down!" she insisted. "Luke is here. Has message from Mia."

Lane's heart dropped. A message from Mia was most likely an update regarding her current employment. Lane ran through scenarios in her brain: Mia was worried about her, Mia was frustrated by her inability to show up for work, Mia was frustrated enough to threaten to _fire_ her Mia was frustrated enough to _actually_ fire her…

"NOW, LANE!"

Lane rolled out of bed, frantically searching for acceptable clothing. A pair of black leggings hung over one bedpost—those would have to do. A red SHHS Marching Band t-shirt completed the ensemble. She finger-combed her straight hair and rushed downstairs.

Though Luke towered over Mrs. Kim, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, twisting his faded black baseball cap in his hands, as she faced him with crossed arms, blocking his entrance.

Lane hesitated. "Uh, hi."

"Can I talk to you…outside?" Luke muttered.

"You can talk right here," Mrs. Kim said staunchly.

"It's sensitive inn business, ma'am," Luke said. "Mia specifically asked that I only speak to Lane and bring her to work if necessary. You understand, don't you? As a businesswoman yourself…"

Mrs. Kim hesitated and finally nodded. "I will be in the shop. You come home after work?"

"Where else would I go?" Lane muttered.

"Do not walk back alone in dark."

"Yes, Mama," Lane said dutifully, and then turned to Luke. "Alright, let's go."

She squinted in the sunlight—had it gotten brighter since the last time she'd stepped foot outside?—and fell into step beside the sullen man. "Is this really about Mia?"

"Um, no." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a postcard. "It's…this. It's – "

But Lane had already caught a glimpse of the handwriting adorning the posterior side of the card and, in her eagerness, snatched it from his hand. "Luke," she breathed, "he sent you a _postcard_?"

"He sent _you_ a postcard," Luke corrected. "He addressed it to me, probably because…" He waved a hand in the direction of Kim's Antiques; no elaboration was necessary.

"Well _where is he?_ "

"There's no return address, Lane," Luke said. "He doesn't want us to find him, he's not stupid."

"He's stupid enough to drop out of high school," Lane said. She flipped the postcard over and caught her breath. " _And_ he's stupid enough to pick a postcard with the location stamped all over it. Celestial Cove, Luke, he's in Celestial Cove!"

This revelation held the potential to turn around Lane's entire summer. Luke, on the other hand, looked as though she'd just ordered a burger, fries, and a medium drink.

"You're not surprised."

"I – I saw it already."

"Then why aren't you going to _do_ anything? He's your _family_."

"Aw, jeez, Lane." Luke shook his head. "No guarantee he's even still there."

"So you're not even going to _try_?" Lane yelled.

"I tried already," Luke said. "I tried for years, and he left. He's probably worse off now than he would've been if he'd stayed with Liz, and it's my fault. He doesn't want my help, he doesn't want to see me, and it'd be a waste of time and money to fly to California looking for him. It's a lot bigger than Connecticut!"

"If you're not going to do anything," Lane declared archly, "I will."

And she set off towards the inn, resolving to do more Googling than she ever had in her entire life.

* * *

 _Celestial Cove, CA_

On the opposite coast, Jess was just starting to stir, blissfully unaware of the havoc wreaked by his postcard, which he still believed to be resting innocently between the pages of _Anna Karenina._

The days since the near-kiss had passed with an almost painful uneventfulness. He woke up and completed work around the house for Lorelai. He walked to Lewis's, organized stacks of books, and tried to make his smiles look less like grimaces. In the evenings, he read more, wrote more, and ate whatever takeout the Gilmores had ordered. (More than once, he wondered why Lorelai had even bothered with a kitchen; realistically, the duo only required a microwave, a mini-fridge, and coffee.) He flirted with the idea of visiting a grocery store, but he didn't want to spend his money and felt odd asking Lorelai to fund the venture, so ultimately, he let it go.

He and Rory skirted awkwardly around each other, their behavior wavering between avoidance and polite but meaningless conversations mainly born out of necessity. ("How old is the Chinese food, Rory?" he'd asked the other night.) While Jess did not particularly _like_ people, he had spent more time than usual observing them over his lifetime; after all, in New York, it had been to his advantage to figure them out, to know their likes and dislikes, to predict changes in mood and behavior. However, Rory continually perplexed him, in more ways than one. She seemed to exist in contradictions. In her qualities, sure—she was intelligent but naive, showered with love but unhappy, beautiful but unaware of it—but also in her behavior. Since his arrival, they'd been trapped in a demented cycle during which they would open up to each other and approach friendship until Rory withdrew vehemently, one step forward and two giant leaps back.

But the kissing had been his fault. The kissing had been too much. The combination of seeing Dave, fighting with Sean, and walking home with Rory had clouded his judgment. As hot-and-cold as Rory had been, leaning in to kiss a girl with a boyfriend, a girl whose mother was providing him with shelter, a girl who was thoroughly off-limits, was something he should have left behind in New York. Regardless of the obvious chemistry—because they _had_ chemistry, anyone could tell, the banter, the books, the obscure movie references—he would have to resign himself to moving on. Rory's attention was elsewhere, and attracting her attention was the one thing Lorelai had forbid.

So he resolved to do the only thing he could, the thing he believed he did best: he would move on. There was no other option.

* * *

 _Stars Hollow, CT_

Mrs. Kim was currently yelling in Luke Danes' face, but shock impeded his ability to listen. For the life of him, he couldn't remember the last time that uptight woman had deigned to step a single toe past his diner's doorway, much less approach the counter.

"Luke Danes!" she bellowed, stamping her foot. "Are you listening!"

He rolled his eyes and grumbled, " _Yes_ , ma'am."

"Then tell me! Where is Lane!"

He took a deep breath, willing himself to find patience. "Mrs. Kim," he said slowly, "the last time I saw Lane, she was going to the Independence Inn. She works there, remember?"

"I found _this._ " She whipped a flat, rectangular object from her purse, and Luke's heart sank. The trouble Lane was going to be in…he didn't even want to imagine. The poor girl had it hard. "You know what it is?"

"Well…it's, ah, it's…"

"Letter from the hoodlum. You knew about this?" she accused.

"It's hardly a letter," he mumbled.

"Don't be smart with me, Lucas," she snapped. "Did you know about _this_?"

She reached into her purse once more, pulling out a piece of lined paper this time. She laid it on the counter. _Sorry Mama,_ was all it read.

" _Why_ is she sorry?" Mrs. Kim demanded. "He get her pregnant?"

"He's been out of the state for months," Luke retorted. "I'd say that's physiologically impossible."

She shook a fist at him. "You joke, joke, joke, but if Lane is missing…"

"I'm sure she's just at work. Look, I can call Mia and check."

She nodded. "Yes. Call now."

Reluctantly, he dialed the number for the Independence Inn.

"Eeen-dep-en-deence Eenn, Mee-chel speaking."

Luke winced. He typically avoided the bad-tempered, nasally Frenchman at any cost. "Can I speak to Mia?"

"Who ees thees?

"It's _Luke_ , Michel."

"Oh, zee flanneled lumberjack."

"I don't have _time_ for this, Michel. Can I speak to Mia?"

"I don't _know_ , can you?"

"This is important, Michel."

"That's what they all say," he grouched, but he must have complied, because a female voice spoke next.

"Lucas?"

"Oh, Mia, thank God. Look, I have Mrs. Kim here…she thinks Lane is missing, but I told her she's just at work. She is, isn't she?"

A silence.

"Isn't she?" Luke prompted.

"Luke," Mia said solemnly, "Lane hasn't been here for hours."

"Dammit," he groaned.

"Shall I come and speak to Mrs. Kim? I noticed some…interesting recent searches in the browsing history."

"I guess you'd better."

He hung up the phone and turned to face Mrs. Kim. "Mia's on her way. Lane isn't…she, um, isn't at the Inn."

* * *

Luke hadn't thought his apartment could ever feel smaller than it had with Jess living there, but as Mrs. Kim paced the floorboards and Mia wrung her hands frantically, he realized he'd been wrong. The truth of the current situation dwarfed his humble home.

"Lane was searching for flights to _California_?" Luke repeated incredulously.

Mia nodded. "Specifically to the San Jose airport."

It was the closest major airport to Celestial Cove; it didn't take a genius to figure out why Lane had been researching that particular location. "Oh, to _hell_ with him," Luke muttered.

"What?" Mrs. Kim clamored, when no one said anything. "What!"

"Mrs. Kim," Mia began delicately, "Lane and Jess were…friends."

Mrs. Kim shook her head violently, strands of her blunt bob fanning out with the motion. "No. No. Lane does not talk to boys."

"They went to school together, and sometimes they…they'd hang out in the diner," Luke admitted.

"And…at the Inn," Mia added.

All color drained from the Mrs. Kim's face. "Now she is gone? To California?"

"We don't know that for sure," Mia said.

But for a concerned mother, this was confirmation enough. She wheeled to face Luke. "This is your fault! The hooligan leaves, and then Lane goes! You need to get her back."

"You want _me_ to go to California."

"Your fault, you go," she insisted.

"I have a business to run!" he blustered. "Your daughter, _you_ go."

"I have business too!" Mrs. Kim snapped.

 _Besides_ , a small voice whispered in his head, _it is your fault. You knew they were friends the whole time, and you said nothing. And Jess is the reason she went, and Jess is technically your responsibility. You need to bring him back. You're the only family he really has._

"He's eighteen!" Luke yelled. "He's _not_ my responsibility."

Mia and Mrs. Kim stared at him, identical looks of concern upon their faces.

"Neither of us inquired about his age, Lucas," Mia said.

"You go?" Mrs. Kim said.

He sighed and plastered a hand to his forehead. "I'll go."

* * *

 _Up in the Air_

The magnitude of the decision didn't sink in until the plane was flying over Ohio.

"Holy crap," she whispered to herself. "I'm going to California."

She tightened her grip on the glossy pages of the most recent edition of _Rolling Stones Magazine_ and smiled.

* * *

 _Bradley International Airport, Hartford, CN_

Three thousand miles between them, and Luke was still cleaning up his nephew's messes. He shook a rueful head. How was this happening? Jess Mariano, determined to slip away without traces, sent a postcard home. Lane Kim, obedient child extraordinaire, ran off to California. And now he, Luke Danes, who'd never once stepped foot on a plane or exited the East Coast, was about to chase down two kids, both of whom _probably_ harbored no desire to see him again. He hummed the _Twilight Zone_ theme softly, deciding it fit the situation perfectly. After all, he had no clue what he was doing. Hell, he'd never even been to California. Wasn't it supposed to be hot? His boots, flannels, and jeans…he'd never fit in.

* * *

 _Celestial Cove, CA_

"Where you going?" Lorelai asked.

"Out," Jess said simply. This routine was familiar, though it varied depending on Liz's sobriety level. Luke, unsurprisingly, had never even attempted it. Jess had felt sorry for him at times. Liz had known what she _should_ be doing but sucked at carrying it out; his uncle, on the other hand, had been just plain clueless.

"Out _where_?" Lorelai pressed.

Jess glanced at her quizzically. _This_ part was new. "What's it to you?"

"I know you must be used to being on your own, but, you know, my house, my rules. And, as long as you're here, you're my responsibility."

"I'm not _any_ one's responsibility," Jess argued.

"Am I feeding you?" Lorelai asked.

"Barely," he snapped.

"And are you staying in my spare room?"

"Hey, _I'm_ eighteen!" he protested.

"Are you _staying_ in my _spare room_?" she repeated, more firmly.

He sighed noisily and muttered a barely audible assent.

"Then you _are_ my responsibility. Let's try again: where are you going?"

"Thought I'd knock over a liquor store," he answered sarcastically.

Lorelai shot him a look of pure, disbelieving disdain ( _I've heard it all,_ her face said, _and I don't believe you for a second_ ). "Jess, we don't even _have_ a liquor store."

He held both hands up in mocking surrender. "Okay, okay, geez! I'm goin' to that coffee place downtown."

"Be back by ten," she said.

"That's all?" he asked disbelievingly.

"What, you wanted more of an interrogation?"

"Did the Spanish inquisitors just _give up_ halfway through?"

Lorelai shook her head. "You're the strangest kid, I swear."

It should've been an insult, but her voice held a slight parental tone, and he felt warmth instead. It was a little like the fourth grade teacher who'd declared him a menace, but then slipped three brand new hardback classics into his backpack, a little like Uncle Luke, who'd scolded him by day but would occasionally smooth a hand over Jess's curls when he thought the boy was asleep. A corner of his mouth quirked up. "See you at ten."

And he was out the door, walking the path to Sugar & Spice in the dying twilight.

* * *

As Jess approached Sugar, he thought he recognized the slim figure behind the counter, gracefully perched on a stool with her nose in a book… But no. Of all the days in the week, of all the hours in the day, her first shift couldn't be _now_. He entered the mostly-empty shop, his suspicions confirmed. _Damn_. The one place he'd gone to think _without_ her was also consumed _with_ her. Oh, the irony.

"Jess?"

" _This_ is where you've been?"

Rory shrugged. "First night unsupervised, they stuck me with the slow closing hours. Can I get you anything?"

"Caramel macchiato?"

She visibly cringed. "I regret to inform you all I have to offer are pre-baked goods."

"Is there a – a caffeine curfew I wasn't aware of?"

She scrunched her nose, embarrassed. "Actually, I just haven't figured out how to use the fancy machines. I mean, someone technically trained me, but it was basically me watching over her shoulder, and I feel like I need a little practice before actually giving the drinks to someone…"

Jess nodded, consciously biting back laughter. "Valid point. Could I get a lemon-blueberry scone?"

Rory's face twitched into an apologetic expression.

Jess sighed. "Let me guess: you can't get me one of those either?"

"They sell out fast, and we only make two huge batches throughout the day."

"Why don't you just tell me what I _can_ have?"

"Well, we have a few slices of poppyseed coffeecake with lemon frosting, chocolate cake, one slightly stale donut…"

"What kind?"

"Of donut?"

He nodded.

"Um, maple old-fashioned?"

"Hmm, not worth it. I'll take a slice of the poppyseed and a glass of milk." He paused. "You _are_ authorized to open the fridge and get me a glass of milk, right?"

"Careful, or I'll strain a muscle from laughing so hard."

"I tend to have that effect on people."

She rolled her eyes, but prepared his request. Once they'd exchanged money for food, Jess retreated to the most secluded table in the café, opened his notebook, and began to write.

* * *

 _San Jose International Airport,_ _San Jose, CA_

San Jose loomed infinitely larger than Stars Hollow. Lane stood helplessly on the sidewalk outside the airport, clutching a wad of tens in a tight fist, trying _just to breathe_ because suddenly the gray cityscape was suffocating and the air seemed too dirty and her lungs felt tight. All her reasons for wanting a cell phone—texting Dave, taking pictures, recording the band's music—suddenly felt girlish and inconsequential. She needed it now, for survival, because she had absolutely no idea where to go. Crowds rushed past, converging around her. She pictured herself as a steadfast rock splitting a surging river, and that helped, until she began to wonder how long it would take until erosion prevailed and the hypothetical river wore her down to a nub.

"You look lost," someone said.

It was a boy someone. His hair was very Jess-like, but his eyes were softer, and his skin was darker. He was smiling, and there was a deep dimple in his left cheek. He looked nothing like Dave, and Lane liked that.

"I _am_ lost, genius," she snapped.

Lane didn't speak well to boys.

He held up his hands. "Just trying to help."

"Sorry, it's just...you're a boy."

He didn't even need to say "no shit." He just Looked at her. It was so much a Jess expression, Lane could've cried.

"Sheltered child," she attempted to explain, gesturing at herself. "My mom's real religious. I wasn't really allowed to talk to boys. I don't always know how. But I am lost. And I'm really, really hungry."

"Well, Really Really Hungry," he said, "I'm Mateo. Where'd you come from?"

"Connecticut."

He whistled. "Long way from home. Where're you heading?"

"Celestial Cove," she said. "I have friends there." Or, at least, she _hoped_ she had friends there.

"You got a ways to go still," he said. "How're you getting there?"

"Well," Lane began. She wracked her brain for an answer, too embarrassed to admit to a stranger that she'd hopped on a plane with no concrete plan, but she was jetlagged and exhausted and about to collapse. "I don't have a way there," she admitted. "I figured I could take the bus, but I don't know how to _find_ the bus, and I don't have a phone, so I can't look anything up, and…"

"Alright, Connecticut, hold up. Do you know anything about the geography of California?"

Lane shook her head no.

"That's what I thought. Ok, so San Jose is in NorCal. I mean, if you were to literally split California down the middle, we might be closer to Central California, but culturally, we're NorCal. Now, you go _way_ down, you get San Diego, Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, hell, _maybe_ San Luis Obispo, all in Southern California. You follow?"

She nodded.

"Celestial Cove is a teeny tiny beach town on the coast. It's past Big Sur—you don't know about Big Sur, probably, but that's a problem for a different time—but not all the way down to SoCal, you know? That means mileage-wise, it's not too bad a deal, but the bus route isn't going to take the 1, because that road's sketchy as shit, and I think parts of it might be closed right now anyway."

He paused to take a breath, and Lane wondered if he'd ever get to the point. As much as he'd looked like Jess at first glance, she was beginning to suspect the similarities ended there.

"Your bus ride is gonna be long," he continued. "It makes a lot of stops. It's a pain in the ass. But it'll get you there. I can set you up?"

"Please," Lane said, mind and body flooding with relief.

So Mateo walked her to the bus terminal. She bought a ticket. He slipped her his phone number, in case she needed anything or "if she ever got that phone." She stowed her bag at her feet, slid headphones over her ears, and slipped into a bumpy sleep.

* * *

 _Celestial Cove, CA_

Jess lost himself in the lines of his notebook, the soft feel of the pen's tip against the page, the slight scratching as he flipped the paper. Suddenly, a hand was tapping his shoulder, gently and hesitantly. His head jerked up as he slammed the book shut.

"Whoa," Rory said. "What's _in_ there, your hit list?"

Jess glared. "You snuck up behind me!"

"No," Rory said patiently. "I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes. We're closing soon."

Jess cursed. "What time is it?"

"It's around 9:45," Rory replied. "Why?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Lorelai gave me a damn curfew."

"She did you a favor, trust me. There's not much to do after ten anyways."

"And you close…?"

"Ten, but as soon as you're gone, we'll be done."

"And you'd be walking back…alone?"

"Well, yes…"

"You're not scared."

"I know my way around."

"But I _am_ heading the same way."

"You are."

"And some might say we'd be morons not to walk together."

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head. "Who?"

"Oh, you know…" Jess waved a lazy hand. "Self-defense instructors? Safety in numbers, etcetera."

"I thought self-defense instructors mainly told women to knee their attackers in the crotch."

"Have you ever _taken_ a self-defense class?"

"Well…no," Rory conceded.

Jess paused, then cracked a crooked smile. "Me neither."

"Do you need to call Mom to tell her you'll be back a little later?"

"Nah," Jess declined. "I like to live on the edge."

"I'll grab my stuff and then we can head out," Rory said and disappeared behind the counter.

Contrary to what appearances may have indicated, Jess held himself to certain moral standards. He attempted to sidestep emotionally injuring those near to him, even if it meant pushing them away; he limited thievery to big businesses and people with an excess of money; and he avoided eavesdropping whenever possible. However, when Rory answered a phone call in the back, there were few other noises in the vicinity to mask her voice drifting through the café, and, try as he might, Jess was powerless to keep bits of a one-sided conversation from slinking to his ears.

"…don't need a ride," she said. "No… _I'm fine._ Mom's coming…of course I'll…nothing will…o _kay_ …love you too."

She emerged with a strained smile, and he capped his pen, sticking the notebook under one arm. He stood up. "Let's do this."

After counters had been wiped down, chairs stacked on top of tables, appliances turned off, Rory and Jess departed Sugar & Spice. Jess leaned against one of the windows, trying not to stare as Rory locked the front door. Her hair frayed, fighting against what had probably once been a tight French braid; small flakes of mascara smudged beneath her lower lashes; her black jeans (part of the uniform, he assumed) hugged her slight curves. She fumbled with the key, and he pushed upright.

"Need help?"

"Don't think so," she muttered, finally jiggling it free. "But thanks."

He nodded, and they walked on.

"You didn't have to do this," she blurted.

"What?"

"Walk me home."

"We're going the same way."

"Yeah, but you waited for me."

"Rory – "

"I would've been perfectly fine getting back alone."

"Walking?"

"Yeah…"

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"Ri-i-i-ight."

"What?"

"I think we both know you weren't going to be _walking_ back at all."

She sighed. "You heard me? Calling Sean?"

Jess shrugged. "Small space. Couldn't be helped."

"It really isn't that big of a deal."

"You lied to him."

"He would've worried."

"Didn't wanna mention I'd be here to protect you?"

Rory ignored him. "He was going to drive me home, but I didn't want _you_ to have to walk alone, and you offered, and…"

The way Jess saw it, this conversation could progress in two ways: he could push with more questions about Sean that would probably shut Rory down, or he could completely redirect the dialogue. The old Jess may have chosen the former; current Jess chose the latter.

" _He_ was gonna drive."

Rory nodded.

"And…you just, what, _don't_?"

"We only have one car!"

"Lorelai's not goin' anywhere."

"I guess I just…don't."

"Why not?"

"What, and _you_ do?"

"I'm _eighteen_ , Rory."

"But you're from New York."

"You _do_ know the time difference is a couple hours, not a couple centuries?"

"But you guys don't drive cars, right? Taxis, the subway…"

"I stayed with my uncle for a while, not in New York. Learned there. I _had_ a car."

"Did you steal it?"

Jess groaned. " _No_."

"Why didn't you drive it here?"

"Besides the fact that a bus ticket is way cheaper than gas?"

Now, Rory glared. " _Yes,_ besides that."

"Someone _stole_ it. It was a piece o' junk car anyway, but I saved up the money myself…" He shook his head, remembering disappointment's deep pierce. "Why don't _you_ drive?"

"I just never got around to learning. I never needed to. Everything's within walking distance but school, and there's not another car for me to take anyway. I'm going to learn before Yale, though. I have to."

"I can teach you," Jess offered.

Rory laughed. "You, teaching?"

"Says the girl who can't manage a vehicle."

"I just can't quite picture you having the patience or people-skills to _teach_ me how to do anything. Besides…"

"Oh, what _now_?"

"I get the sense you'd be a…oh, how do I put this kindly? Reckless driver?"

He clasped his hands over his chest. "Lady Gilmore, you wound me!"

"Truth hurts, Mariano."

They fell into companionable silence, passing better-kempt models of the Gilmore home and weathering the somewhat biting wind. As warm as it could be during the day, the ocean breeze never failed to cool the evenings.

She looked at him, opened her mouth as if to speak, but then turned away.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You were _going_ to."

"You're a psychic now?"

"You had a Look."

"There was no Look."

He shook his head. "Don't give me that. Spill, Gilmore."

More steps of silence. She'd come around, Jess knew. Patience. Sure enough, after a moment:

"It's just…if you could prove me wrong…"

"I'm _not_ a reckless – "

"I _might_ consider letting you teach me how to drive."

* * *

Before Rory knew it, they were in the hallway, awkwardly unsure of how to proceed.

"Well, I'm gonna shower." She gestured to the bathroom. "I need to wash this coffee off."

"I thought that was the patented Gilmore perfume."

She shook her head. "Have you considered a career in comedy?"

"On my list, right under hospitality."

She cracked a smile. "See you later."

But she didn't want to move. He was right next to her, his arm nearly brushing hers, sarcasm practically radiating off his person even in silence. He leaned over and nudged her. Though the initial contact had occurred at the shoulder, butterflies erupted in her chest. _This is wrong,_ she thought. _This is so wrong._

"You still with him?"

His subtle mention of Sean shook Rory out of her Jess-struck haze. "Yes," she replied shortly, pulling away.

Jess shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, sighed deeply. "So this is how you're going to handle it."

She shook her head. Honestly, this was getting ridiculous. She knew she needed to break up with Sean—she wasn't happy, hadn't been for a long time—but it was none of _Jess's_ business. She'd been controlling herself just fine. _He_ was the one who'd almost kissed her. What of the banter, the walks home? It was just fun between friends. She could ignore the chemistry. She _had_ to. And so, once again, she found herself defending something she no longer believed in.

"I'm in a committed relationship," Rory said. "So if you mean I'm going to handle my relationship by _staying_ in it, then the answer is yes."

"Don't play dumb," Jess snapped. "It doesn't look good on you."

"What do you want me to say?"

" _Why_ are you still _with him_?"

"I love him," Rory defended.

"Oh yeah," Jess sneered. "You love him so much, you almost kissed me the other night. That fancy diploma must already be serving you well, because that _sure_ makes a lot of sense."

"I did _not_ almost kiss you!" she protested.

"Gee whiz, what _are_ the kids calling it these days? Would you prefer _thimble_?"

" _Jess_."

" _Ro_ -ry."

"I think you're being a little ridiculous."

"I think _you're_ being a little delusional."

He stepped forward. Rory tried to back away, but a sharp jolt to the back indicated she'd hit the counter and, therefore, exhausted any possibility of a subtle escape. Her heart thumped wildly, her forehead flushed feverishly, her breath hitched in sporadic bursts. He leaned in, his mouth at her ear, and she reached behind, gripping the countertop to keep herself upright. _What does a stroke feel like?_

"I unnerve you," he said softly, his breath tickling wisps of her hair. "I don't fit with anything you know, and I don't fit with anything you've learned. Because uniforms don't suit me, because boxes won't keep me, because you don't know how to categorize me, and that scares the hell outta you."

"Get _away_ from me," she hissed.

The venom she'd tried to inject into her tone flopped flat on the floor between them, the slight waver hindering her attempt. To his credit, however, Jess did as she'd requested, whirling on his heel and leaving the room without a backwards glance. His door slammed, and she sank into the nearest kitchen chair, allowing her head to rest upon the table with a _thunk_. Her knees still felt like Jell-O, and one touch of her cheek convinced her the hot blush remained.

* * *

Rory entered her bedroom clean, exhausted, wracked with guilt, and no less confused than when she'd left it hours earlier. In the last few days, she'd run away from what probably would've been a kiss, chosen to walk with Jess instead of ride with Sean, and lied to Sean about it. A walk home that had, by the way, lasted longer than it should've, because she'd purposely led Jess down side streets instead of the straight shot back home; she'd walked more slowly; she hadn't wanted it to end.

Every part of her knew the breakup was inevitable, necessary. Even before this weird attraction to Jess, she was unsure about the relationship, but now…things were different. Now, she was certain it was over, and dragging it out any longer would only be cruel. Her fear of change was no excuse; Sean deserved more than to be used as a security blanket, helping her in the transition from high school to college.

She felt it in her stomach, this deep sense of impending doom. How could she tell someone who'd poured their heart into her that she didn't reciprocate the sentiment? How could she tell the boy she'd loved for nearly two years that she didn't feel the same way anymore? How could she explain she loved him but wasn't _in_ love with him? That she'd always care, but she didn't want to be with him forever, _couldn't_ be with him forever? That the attention she'd once loved now felt like a cage? She finally admitted the truth to herself: There would be no right time. There would be no right way. It would be ripping off the mother of all band-aids, and the longer it stuck, the more it would hurt. She needed to break up with him, and she needed to do it soon.

A knock interrupted her ruminations; Lorelai, as usual, stepped in without waiting for confirmation.

"Sweets, you know where Jess is?"

"Not really," she mumbled into the pillow.

"Is something wrong?"

Rory shook her head.

"He said he was going to Sugar & Spice. Did you see him?"

"Yeah, he, uh, walked me home."

"Ooh."

"What?"

"Well, uh, Sean _may_ have called a little while ago."

Rory's heart plummeted into her stomach, and she sat straight up in bed. "Did you _answer_?"

"Honey, it's the _phone_! What did you expect me to do?"

"Let it ring!"

"Someone could've been calling for _me_!"

She groaned. " _Then_ what?"

"He _may_ have asked me why I was at home instead of picking you up…"

Rory cringed.

"…and I _may_ have mentioned Jess had also been there…"

" _Mom!_ "

"What?"

"You told _Sean_ about _Jess_?"

" _About Jess_?" Lorelai repeated, complete with sarcastic air quotes. "Rory, there shouldn't be anything _to_ tell Sean."

"But he _hates_ Jess!"

"Hon, he's jealous! Don't make it worse!"

"If he's jealous, that's _his_ problem!"

Lorelai sighed. "Just tell me Jess made it home."

"He made it home, _okay_?"

"Cool it with the attitude, missy!"

"Mom, can you just…leave me alone? Please?"

Lorelai responded by slamming the door.

* * *

With shaky fingers, she typed a text to Sean. _Meet me tomorrow at 12? I think we need to talk._


End file.
